Sharpest Lives
by CapturetheFinnick
Summary: Dan gets drunk at a party and wakes up on Phil's couch. But can Dan drown his demons? And can love really save you? They are about to find out. Fluff with some angst. Vaguely based on the first verse of Sharpest Lives by MCR (hence the title). Rated T for swearing and mentions of drugs/alcohol/self harm. Please tell me what you think :)
1. Sharpest Lives

**Hi, yes sorry I've been away but I finally got some time off from exams (for like a day) and so I really wanted to write this, here you go;**

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_**Dan's POV**_

My head whirls as the darkness threatens to take me. I can feel its bony fingers at my throat as its darknening cloak wafts around my ankles. I stumble around. In my mind I know there is music playing, I can feel the pounding through the soles of my shoes and yet my ears fail to pick it up. All around me are shapes, sometimes moving, sometimes flashing and always lingering. I can make out things sometimes, the edge of a shoe or a single strand of hair. But, the majority of the time they are lost to the blackness. I am a ghost, wandering an abandoned city, all alone, forever alone. I feel tears crawl up my throat, this is the pinnacle of my drunkenness, the peak of the night, the peak of every night for the last three years. The point where I curl up in the corner and cry- welcome to my life.

Then I see it, it strikes me like a lightning bolt to the heart, a single light. It flashes through the darkness, somehow managing to penetrate straight to my eyes without illuminating any of the shadow figures. I rise, like a moth being led to a flame, stumbling across bits of broken glass, falling into the sweaty bodies. But before I can reach my destiny, my foot hits something hard and I fall on to the soft material. The bass pounds as the final light fades.

I wake up to a different kind of light, the kind that naturally floods the world. The shapes are back and my vision is blurry. All I can see are fragments of things, like I am looking through a kaleidoscope and the world is spinning all at once. And that is before the headache starts. My brain starts to scream and I am tempted to put my hands against my temple, like the scream by Edvard Munch, but I feel like my hands would set alight. I screw my eyes shut and wait for it to subsidize. Three years later and the pain still hurts every bit as much as the first time.

When I do finally open my eyes, I see a figure looming over me, his hair falling down, casting shadows across his face. I slam my eyes shut again. The shadows are back. The shadows are only supposed to come at night, I think. I feel a hand rocking my shoulder as the sofa sags slightly, accepting the weight of another human being. I slowly unclench my eyes, every hair on my body alight as I prepare myself mentally to see the face of the shadow people.

But it is not a shadow person, of course it's not, the shadow people don't really exist. Instead it is a boy. A boy maybe the same age as me, maybe a few years either way. His skin is white and smooth, his nose sculpted down into the curve of his mouth and I can see deep grey smudges lingering beneath his eyes, the skin drooping slightly in a protesting kind of way. But his eyes, it is his eyes that I notice, his eyes that hold my attention. They sparkle like gem stones, like tiny starts among the grey smog of the morning after, a blue so deep it makes you believe that paradise really exists.  
A floatation of "Umm Hi, I'm err Phil by the way." comes from the boy's mouth, the stumbling notes an interruption to the melodious music.  
"Yeah. Hi. I'm Dan." I manage to splutter out. "Err, why are you here?" I say, my tone a little more brash than I had intended. Phil laughs and the melody is back.  
"This is my couch." he says, pointing down to the material I was currently lay atop of. I blush slightly.  
"I'm sorry. I had no idea where I was."  
"I'm not surprised. Are you okay?"  
"Yeah I think so." I say as I try to sit up, the room swirling faster now, like looking at the outside world from a spinning top. The blood rushes to my head as I hold onto the armrest for safety.  
"I don't think you are." mutters Phil as he bites his lip. "I'll get you a blanket."

_**Phil's POV**_

The door opens with a bang and in strolls my brother, a backpack strung over his shoulder and a tie fixed around his neck. I jump away slightly from where I had been sat, leant against the sofa, staring with a growing curiosity and need at the boy who lies asleep. I hadn't meant to- I was trying to clear the endless glass and rubbish off of the floors. But my legs had begun to ache, and my eyes had grown weary as the second round of a splitting headache had bounded in. Michael's mouth drops open.  
"Phil! Have you seen the state of this place?"  
"Umm sorry I was trying to clean it up."  
"No you weren't you were just sat there on the floor."  
"I was tired!"  
"I let you hold this party on condition you had cleaned it all up before mum got home!"  
"It will be!"  
"She'll be home in ten minutes!" I glance up at the clock, had it really been that long? Sure enough, the steady ticking hand of the clock was nearing to eleven. My heart raced.  
"Shit! Will you help me?"  
"I guess I'll have to now won't I?" says Michael with an exasperated sigh. He walks over to the sofa, picking up a black rubbish bag from where it lay, carelessly strewn across the floor. He glances down at Dan.  
"Who the fuck is this?" he says, his voice rising.  
"I don't know, I woke up and he was there. He said his name was Dan."  
"Phil?"  
"Yes."  
"I'm not buying that. People were drunk, they weren't drunk enough to pass out."  
"Well evidently he did."  
"Phil?"  
"What?!"  
"Tell me the truth."  
"I am." I say, looking up at the I-think-I-know-best look written all over his face. "I didn't fuck him okay?"  
"Are you sure?"  
"No, Michael you know what? I think I know what happened. I had a party, drunk one beer, fucked a guy I don't know and then forgot about it. Then a flying pink unicorn showed up and rampaged round the living room but it's okay because Chris fought her off with his superhuman strength."  
"It's plausible."  
"Did mummy and daddy never tell you Michael? Unicorns don't exist."  
"I meant the first part. You need to be careful."  
"Why do you never believe me?" I yell, thrusting my arms down by my side out of frustration.  
"Because you tell lies all of the time. No, what, I've never been drunk, No that wasn't me climbing through the window, the vase? That was the dog." Michaels voice got louder and louder until I could feel his breath against my face. And that is when Dan began to stir.

_**Dan's POV**_

I wake up to the sound of booming. Is it another party? Have I slept another day away and awoken once again into the never ending horror of night time? The face of the boy appears in front of me once more, the one with the eyes full of oceans. What was his name again? I dig through my mind like a pirate for treasure but I fail my quest. My mind is like a sieve, especially when I am high or recovering from a high; which is always. I feel the sleep tickling my tear ducts and I attempt to wipe my tiredness away in one fell swoop.  
"Are you okay?" I hear a voice whisper through the blurriness and there they are again, those eyes, like lights at the end of the tunnel. I nod and sit up, this time there is no vomit threatening to scuttle up my throat. Above me a shadow lingers as a voice coughs. I turn, still of a nervous disposition from the events of last night, to see a boy. Well, more like a man. This man shares the same black hair as the boy except where the boys was rough around the edges, free to move, the man's lies combed back, shiny from the sheer amount of grease it has been shoved into. I recognise a few key features from the boys face in the man. They share the same angular nose, although his mouth is harsher, a thinner line and his eyes are a dull brown, closer to mine than the deep oceans of the boy's. His face is formed into a disapproving frown and I instantly shy away, my fragile arms shaking slightly.  
"Umm sorry I'll umm go now." I say, pushing the blanket off of my legs and standing up, wobbling a little.  
"Yes you will. Phil wasn't supposed to let people stay." he says, shooting a glare towards the boy- who's the name evidently was Phil.  
"You can't make him go! Look at how shaky he is, he's not fit to go anywhere!"  
"He bloody well can't stay here! How are you going to explain a hung-over strange boy lying on our sofa?" Phil simply sighs.  
"It's okay, It's okay I'm going." I say, not wanting to get in the middle of the feud, the cold stares in their eyes practically shooting sparks across the vacuum of air that lies between them.  
"He's not leaving. He's in no state." says Phil, his voice sounding final. "Dan, you go hide in my room, make sure you lock the door behind you and Michael you go and distract mum and dad whilst I attempt to clear up."  
"Why should I?"  
"Because you'll be in just as much trouble as me. Now, go." Michael shakes his head, dumps his backpack onto the lino floor and mutters a curse of expletives under his breath, before opening the door and leaving. I hear the sound of his footsteps bounding down the carpeted staircase and out into the open.  
"Thank you." I say, attempting a weak smile which Phil returns, just the slight curve of his lips lighting up his face in the most obvious way,  
"No problem." he returns.

I walk along the hallway, a little shaky but certainly a lot steadier than before. Using the wall to guide me, I make it to the end of the corridor. In front of me are three white doors, all identical. Somehow I feel as if I fell into some kind of cringey maths puzzle. I open the first one as I hear a key in the lock. The room facing me is ordered, white walls and a sturdy bed with a blue quilt. No possessions lie scattered around, and no knickknacks line the drawers. The curtains are missing and without them the room looks bare, just a pole and some hooks protecting the room from the coldness of the glass. I decide this is probably Phil's brothers vacant room. I bet he already moved out. I close the door quietly behind me and have no choice but to leap into the next room across as I hear the scraping of the living room door on the carpet and the chattering voices of older people. I listen intently but hear no shrillness or shouting. Phil must have miraculously turned the lounge from the classic drinking area to something that looked closer to a kind of home.

I remove my head from where it was pressed against the door and slowly turn around, taking in Phil's room. It is an explosion of personality, from the posters that line the walls to objects that guard the top of his chest of drawers. I take it all in, already feeling like I know him better. His room is crowded, giving it a sensation of being small but I feel like it wouldn't be if you removed all of the stuff. In one corner, stands an oak wardrobe, brightly coloured t-shirts hanging from it's swinging doors and non-matching socks peeking from the drawers below. Directly to the left stands a wooden chest of drawers, a slightly lighter shade of wood than the wardrobe making it feel patchy and home made. The aforementioned objects that line the drawers add flashes of colour, acting as a feast for the eyes. I struggle to take it all in, to admire every object without it being an overload. Just from taking a quick glance, I pick out the body of a small lion toy and some colourful plastic figurines. The only thing that stands between the chest of drawers and the unmade made bed is a DVD rack. I don't think I've ever seen quite so many DVD's in my life before- my mind races to read all of the titles; inception, buffy the vampire slayer, friends, the list is endless and it is bringing back my blurriness trying to read them all. I collapse onto the bed, sinking into the checkered green and blue duvet. My head falls into the pillow and my eyes are dragged up to the ceiling, which like the walls that surround me is covered in posters and drawings and pictures, giving the effect that I have climbed inside of Phil's mind itself. Chaos- that's what Phil's room is, organised, passionate chaos.

_**Phil's POV**_

I chatter away to my parents, asking all about their weekend away, excitedly animating my face in an attempt to keep their eyes and thoughts away from any possible trouble that could have gone on here. Michael appears to have kicked most of the remaining bottles under the counter top whilst he was making coffee and, quickly glancing round, I see no more. My parents chatter on and on about golden sands and deep oceans before settling on reeling off anecdote after anecdote. Constantly wary that I have left a stranger alone in my room- I keep one eye fixed on the ever-ticking clock.

"Umm I'm sorry, but as wonderful as that sounds, I have homework." I say and my mother looks at me, her eyes laced with understanding.  
"Do you need any help?" she asks as she sips her tea.  
"No. I should be fine."  
"Call me if you do!" she calls after me as I stride down the hall and into my bedroom.

I walk in to see Dan lying face up on the bed, his hair swept delicately across one eye and his mouth open slightly as his legs sprawl across the covers. He doesn't hear me enter. I slowly close the door and stand there for a while, just watching his eyes run excitedly over the posters that hang to the ceiling, a growing express of glee in his youthful eyes. I take a step forward and he jolts, sitting up. I see his skin crinkle as he winces in pain.  
"Sorry, I didn't know how long you'd be." he says as he awkwardly swings his legs back off of the bed, leaving them dangling just above the carpet.  
"No, no it's fine." I say joining him on the bed.

With my thigh almost touching his, I nervously brush my fringe to one side. The room is silent and Dan turns to stare out at the particulary fascinating tree that lies just beyond the window. The air has never felt so heavy. Whilst Dan's head is turned, my eyes wander over his face. It really is beautiful. Even having just woke up, and even though the slight print of the sofa is still etched into his face, he manages to look like a walking piece of art. He moves his head to look at his feet and catches me staring. His eyes divert their path and turn to look at me.  
"You look tired." I say, ignoring the fact that he just caught me staring at him.  
"I am." he says.  
"You can go to sleep if you want."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yeah sure." I say and before I can say another word he is unravelling the laces of his shoes, freeing his feet from the confines of his shoes. He looks at me quickly for confirmation, the light slowly fading in his eyes and I nod. He shuffles along the bed, lying down with his hands folded under his head. He then tucks his knees into his chest, his toes curling in towards his heels. Adorably, I notice that he has a hole in the toe of his left sock and I can see his golden brown skin leaking through. In an attempt not to stare, I rise, grabbing a blanket from where it hangs on the back of my office chair and drape it over him. He moves his hand to tuck it closer to his shoulder and goes back to sleep, the knitted blanket like a layer protecting him from all harm.

_**Dan's POV**_

I wake up in a cloud of grogginess and for just a moment my mind panics, the green sea of duvet a foreign land. Then I remember. I can hear the slight tinkling of electronic noise and I roll over to see Phil, a laptop precariously balanced on his knees as he sits in an upright foetal position, the light from the screen illuminating his face and capturing his perfect smile. I sit and watch him, using the excuse of fatigue to convince myself that it isn't creepy. I've only just met the guy. I wonder what he is watching and then I hear the familiar tones of Paperlillies, one of my favourite you tubers. I try to contain my excitement. I hardly know anyone who watches YouTube. I stir slightly, pretending to have just woken up and the beautiful oceans eyes find me, engulfing me into their warm waters. Phil smiles.  
"Wakey wakey sleepy head." he whispers, the small smile shining through in his tone.  
"How long was I asleep?" I ask as I see him consciously close the lid of his laptop.  
"Five, maybe six hours?" he says and laughs upon seeing my eyes widen.  
"Wow."  
"You didn't have anywhere to be did you?"  
"No, It's fine."  
"I didn't know whether to wake you up and to be honest you looked too cute all tucked up asleep." he blushes a little and I can sense that he regrets that last part.  
"We're you watching me sleep? Pervert." I say, laughing.  
"No, no I just got intrigued when you started sucking your thumb."  
"I do not suck my thumb!" I say, indignantly.  
"ssh ssh." Phil says quickly looking behind him as if he could see through his bedroom wall into the corridor. "My parents don't know you're here."  
"Oops sorry. So what are you watching?" the red rises back up to his cheeks.  
"Err nothing, just you know." I scoot over quickly, catching him off guard and yank open the laptop lid,  
"I knew you were watching Bryony!"  
"You know her?" he says, shock filling his face.  
"Yes she's on of my favourite youtubers."  
"Wow, that's so cool. Who else do you like?"  
"Umm, Charlie, Shane, Community Channel, Charlie the Unicorn." I list the names off, looking down at the bed as I do so, afraid of judgement.  
"No way, I love Charlie the Unicorn!" I smile and proceed to ask him excitedly about it.

_**Phil's POV**_

Me and Dan talk all afternoon, only noticing the time when the yellow strands that fall through the window slowly turn into the hands of darkness. Dan follows my gaze, staring through the glass into the outside wall,  
"Ah shit." he exclaims upon seeing the dimming sunlight. "I really have to go."  
"Okay." I say, shifting myself off of the bed and plodding towards the door. But no footsteps follow me. I turn around to see Dan, perched on the edge of the window sill, his palms pressed against the wood.  
"It was nice talking to you and thanks for the stay, see you around." he says as he turns round one last time, waving his hand once, before climbing out of the window and down to the ground. And with his presence absent, my mind turns to wondering; will I ever see him again?

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_**Okay so I need your help. I am unsure about whether to leave this is a oneshot or continue it into a chapter fic. I have some ideas planned for a chapter fic but I am unsure whether it would be best left as just a oneshot? Please tell me what you think, thank you for reading and it would be really great if you reviewed.**_


	2. Begin Again

_**As you can see I have decided to turn this into a chapter fic seen as that was the overall vote. I plan to make every chapter this long (around 2000 to 3000 words) and I hope that I will have time to update this regularly. Btw if you read any of my other fics don't worry as I will try and update those too. Thank you SO much to wonderfulfun, witbeyondmeasurexox and OwlSky15678 for reviewing and helping! It means a lot. I hope you enjoy, here you go;**_

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_**Phil's POV**_

The howling winds encircle me, taunting me and tugging at the uplifted collar of my coat. They whisper against my cheek, cold words that make me flinch as my blue eyes face downwards. A circle of orange leaves spin around my feet, like a flame or a firework, lighting up the dark and gloomy path that I walk. With a shiver, I pull my coat closer around me. I soak in its warmth and hold on to it like a life jacket, my one flicker of hope among the endless stormy seas. My eyes are still fixed onto the ground.

As I stare, a parchment as white as a ghost floats its way into my vision, knocking against my shoe like a phantom at the gates of hell, shivering in the wind. I look up. Through the blurriness of my watering eyes, I see a figure hunched over on the ground, his black coat flying out behind him like a kite in the wind. Paper swirls his heels as he runs a hand desperately through his deep brown hair. His arms dart out as he attempts to gather all the paper, shoving it under one arm the way a rugby player might with a ball. But it is no use, the paper continues to fly, enjoying its new-found freedom, forever lost to the wind.

My heart goes out to this boy and it warms, thawing inside of my chest as I quicken my stride. I walk along the path, the wind's giant hands pushing me back in protest but before too long I make it to the figure, the piece of paper that had flown to me still clutched in my iron grip. Cautiously, as if approaching the devil himself in this barren land that he probably calls his lair, I tap the stranger on his broad shoulder. Only it isn't a stranger, even through the hair that flies chaotically across his face; I recognise him. The boy from the couch, the boy who leapt from the window into the night. His face is taught with tension and his eyes dart impatiently. I hand him the paper and he mutters 'thank you' before his hands scurry back over the ground in search for the documents that remain. He doesn't recognise me. Maybe he doesn't remember at all.

I crouch down, letting my coat fly out behind me, matching Dan's. That was his name wasn't it? It's all a bit of a blur. A haze of slight drunkenness, a haze of time. Since then a few months have passed, burying old memories under the sand like the heads of ostriches in times of fear. How fragile the human brain is, how quickly memories can fall through it. I help to gather the paper up and the boy turns to me, shooting me a quick smile, just a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. A spark of recognition lights his eyes. Maybe he does remember me. He chooses not to act upon it, not to link the spark in his eyes to his tongue, at least not yet.

Eventually, we manage to collect all of the paper. A few sheets had wandered further than the confines of the path and so we had found ourselves running along the desperately soggy grass, our feet slipping and sliding in the mud. After all the sheets are successfully wrangled back into their folder, Dan collapses onto the bench, a sigh escaping from his lips as his body appears to melt into the wood.  
"Did you get them all?" I ask, although I already know the answer. I do this quite a bit, ask questions I already know the answers to. I guess I just want to hear his voice some more, to drag out our time together for as long as I can. He nods, using his hands to comb his unruly fringe back to the side where it belongs.  
"Do you remember me?" I ask and he nods once more,  
"You're the boy with the couch."  
"Yes. I have to say I was hoping I would bump into you again. You look tired.. do you want to go for some coffee?" I ask, my voice wavering slightly more than I want it to. Dan's eyes look up at me, the deep brown oak colour the same as the tree that lies just beyond him. There's something swimming in his eyes- something I can't place, hidden behind the gratefulness and slight edge of nerves. It throws me off track and for a second I am scared he will say no, that he will shout, call me every name under the sun as so many before him have done, but he doesn't, instead he flashes me that smile that makes my heart tingle with a thousand possibilities and nods, rising to follow me.

**_Dan's POV_**

I don't know how to feel. The boy is like a beam of light within my life, the endless nights of dark corners and dingy alleys and then suddenly here he is, a break from it all, a voice calling out that life doesn't have to be this way. I wish I could remember his name but I don't even bother to try and search the long abandoned corridors that are my memory. It will only fail me like it always does. The winds' incessant howling rules out conversation and the wails that fill my eardrums remove any awkwardness that may have lay in the silence. We walk past the final tree and out of the iron gate, quickly darting across the road before coming to a stop right outside of a coffee shop. To my surprise it isn't a chain, not one of the dominating cafe's that rampage the streets of England. Instead it is small and quaint, a battered sign swinging in the wind announcing 'The Art Café'. Phil looks at me through the tangle of his black locks,  
"Is this okay?" he asks and, seeing the warm light dribbling through the front window, I smile,  
"Of course." I say. He turns on his heel, the upturned collar and crazy hair reminding me of a certain beloved detective and, pulling my sleeves carefully over the throbbing scars that lie hidden below, I follow him into the light.

The place feels warm. It feels as if the yellow, glowing light is wrapping itself around me in a welcoming hug. A smile finds its way onto my lips. It is small, the walls whitewashed, with artworks littered here and there, giving pops of colour. On the floor are various sofa's, with little round tables perched in front of them. Some of the tables are topped with artwork too, mini-sculptures, twisted figures of periwinkle blue and cardinal red. At the very far end of the café, tucked cosily in the corner is a coffee bar. It is a deep brown and even from a small distance, I can see patterns swirling in the wood, each one threatening to tell a story. Lining the bar are bell bottomed jars, embodying rich coffee beans. Just to their right, sits display cases, showing off enticing cakes, lovingly arranged into formations to appease the eye. Covering the brown brick wall behind the coffee bar are countless coffee machines, some rusting with age and telling the story of a time long ago and some looking like they are straight out of the page of an Argos magazine. A woman sits on a stool behind the bar, her lipstick bright red and a floral scarf tied into her auburn hair. Other than her there are only one or two other people in here and yet it isn't awkwardly silent, a small chatter fills the room and music plays in the background. The boy walks towards the bar.  
"Hi" he says.  
"Oh Hi, Phil. The usual?" and he nods. With the addition of his name, other memories come back from that day, his melodious laughter and the ease of our conversation.  
"And what about your friend?" he turns to look at me, motioning with his head towards the bar. My eyes quickly flash over the menu chalkboard, seeing a lack of any complicated drinks.  
"Just err, a hot chocolate please." I say, hearing the slight shakiness of my voice, I have no idea what is wrong with me today.  
"Cream and Marshmallows?"  
"Yes please."  
"Anything else."  
"No thank you." The woman smiles,  
"You can go and sit if you want, I'll bring it to you." and then she turns round, tackling the machine that stands behind her.

Phil walks towards a sofa, nestled in the corner, away from the window. I follow him, sinking into the armchair opposite with an unintentional sigh.  
"Hard day?" Phil says with a laugh as light as air. I grin,  
"You don't know the half of it." and just like that we slip back into conversation, no stilted pauses or awkward stretches of silences, just me and Phil on a Wednesday evening, tucked in the corner of a coffee shop. The drinks come and are drunk and the sun begins to go down. I actually feel happy and just the feeling of it spreading through my core shocks me, I had forgotten that such a thing existed. I had forgotten that you didn't always have to feel like you were tumbling down a six foot well into the oblivion of nothingness, sometimes you could feel as light as air and that's how I feel now.

This is what I am thinking about when the song starts to seep from the speakers, the music filling the air. Bliss by Muse. The smile that was already etched onto my face grows wider as I begin to mouth along to the lyrics under my breath- feeling indescribably comfortable with Phil. His eyes meet mine and they are bright and he is smiling.  
"Don't tell me you like muse too?" he says, his face eager.  
"They're my favourite band."  
"No. Way. Me too!"  
"And this is my favourite song."  
"You cannot be serious? Are you serious?" And I nod sheepishly, expecting judgement, waiting for the blades to hit me. But instead I just hear the excited cry of,  
"This is my favourite muse song too!"

We chat excitedly for a few more hours, ignoring the blinding darkness from outside, ignoring the ticking hands of the clock. As I talk something builds up in my chest, something warm, something that chips away at the blackness that has resided there for so long. Puzzling. Soon everyone else has gone and the red-lipped girl is leaning against a brush, keys dangling from the pocket of her high-waisted black jeans.  
"Time to leave I'm afraid boys." she says and we simultaneously blush, reaching for our bags and coats and heading to the door.  
"See you tomorrow Phil?" the girl asks,  
"Yeah, see you tomorrow Annie." he replies.  
Once back out in the biting winds, Phil quickly rushes a 'goodbye' and turns to leave but I catch his arm, pulling him back.  
"Umm." I say, shyly "Umm can I have your number?" Phil smiles, his smile almost as warm as the coffee house.  
"Of course." he says and he writes it on my hand, waving coyly before spinning around and walking away, his collar against the wind.

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**_In case anyone was curious, (you're probably not) contrary to popular belief ostriches do not actually bury their heads in the sand and it is all a myth so that simile I used in like paragraph 3 that you have all forgotten about is incorrect but I kept it because I liked it and yeah. Thank you for reading and please review if you liked it (or didn't you know either way)_**


	3. Wonderstruck

_**So here you go; a new chapter. Don't be worried I haven't abandoned Together, It's just this story has been running through my mind a lot so I was inspired to write this. I don't know about other people but I seem to be a really slow writer as this took me so many hours. Thank you so so so much to witbeyondmeasurexox and OwlSky15678 for caring and being nice yay. Here you go; hope you enjoy. **_

_**Dan's POV**_

I walk home, a smile coating my face. Somehow the usual dirt and grime that coats the streets has disappeared and I begin to notice things, like the way the soft yellow light falls from the street lamps or the way the trees sway to a beat. The wind that was tugging at me, nipping at my heels, seems to have fallen to be replaced by a soft breeze which tickles my face. I feel my feet skip slightly. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me? How can one person have such an effect on me? I try to force the smile off of my lips but it is no use. I remind myself over and over that this is dangerous, that letting all my happiness originate from one person is a bad idea, that he can't really save me, but I can't bring myself down. I am like a giant balloon floating over the city. And so I let myself smile, I let Phil's blue eyes dominate my mind for it is too late; I have already walked up and over the cliff.

As I reach my street, I slow down slightly. I take a deep breath, letting my smile fall from my face. The lights in my house are on. I can see the flicker of the TV screen through the front window. The small front garden is littered with chew toys and tennis balls. The image of a perfect family home, right? Wrong. Already I can feel my heart pick up slightly in speed, a small pocket of moisture gathering on my palms. I put one foot in front of the other, hearing the sound of my feet slamming against the wet pavement. I push open the rusting iron gate and proceed up the short path, swinging the door handle which I knew would be open. I pause for a second but no shouting hits my ears, I let my mouth upturn once more and I catch the view of myself in the mirror. Seeing my face I giggle, every angle seems to be lit up, my eyes sparkling in a way I have never before seen. I think Phil will be very good for me.

I hurry up the stairs before mum and John can see me, just because there's not the ear-splitting shrills of every day life doesn't mean I want to push my luck. I reach the plain sandalwood door that leads to my bedroom, letting my eyes wander over the small crack that covers the left side and the small hole in the corner, lined with teeth marks. As I walk into my room, I have no time to sigh over the peeling wallpaper or the dirty sheets of the hastily made bed. Instead I close the door behind me and lean against it, the smile erupting onto my lips once more as I seem to take the pose of a besotted school girl. With a sigh, I fall onto my bed, letting my legs dangle from the edge of the wooden frame. My heart feels so much lighter than when I rose this morning, like all my demons have just been torn away by the wind. I have Phil's number, I think as his laugh still rings in my ears, as his smile still plays on my mind.

The lamp begins to flicker by the side of me, it seems like it's teasing me, laughing at me for being so hopeless. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my iPod, the crack across the bottom corner glistening like a warning sign. I stretch out my arm lazily and grasp it, pulling it towards me. I push the already attached headphones into my ear and scroll through my songs, my eyes gleaming when I find the one I am looking for. The song from the coffee shop. The all too familiar tune leaks into my ears.

_Everything about you is how I want to be _

I see Phil's head tilt back as he laughs

_Your freedom comes naturally_

I think of running carefree in the park

_Everything about you resonates happiness_

I picture the little twitch in the corner of his mouth

_Now I won't settle for less_

I see him smile as I grab his arm

_Give me all the peace and joy in your mind_

I think of his eyes, bluer than oceans

_Everything about you pains my envying_

I see his black locks, falling perfectly over his left eye

_Your soul can't hate anything_

I hear his soothing voice

_Everything about you is so easy to love_

I feel him tuck the blanket around me

_They're watching you from above_

I think of him looming above me, the paper gripped in his hand.

The song ends. Shit, I think, I am in too deep.

_**Phil's POV**_

I walk through the door, my hair windswept and the sheer cold of the air still not able to wipe the grin off my face. Shut up, I tell myself, he doesn't think of you like that. I quickly scurry past my parents and into my room. I smile when I see the blanket hung over the end of my bed. Great. Now I am smiling at inanimate objects. I collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. My phone buzzes in my pocket and my heart races. Is it him? My heart does that flippy over thing. I jerkily sit up and pull the phone out of my pocket, frantically jabbing at the screen in an attempt to unlock it. My fingers are shaking. Why the hell are my fingers shaking? Get it together, Phil. The screen lights up. My heart feels like it has fallen off a building, like it was hidden in Sherlock's coat pocket. It's not from Dan. It's just an advert. Disappointment swarms me and I sink back down into the bed. Why am I so worked up over this? I can just text him now myself. Wait, no. Is it too soon? What do I mean is it too soon? This is strictly platonic, right? Rules like that don't apply to friendships, right? Who am I kidding, platonic. Does staring into your friends eyes make your heart leap want to leap from your chest? Do you endlessly feel the urge to run your hands through your friends hair? No, I think, I have fallen and I have fallen hard.

I sigh, placing the phone onto my rickety bedside table and removing my shoes before curling up under the quilt and letting Dan's eyes dominate my mind as my head hits the pillow.

The sunlight streams through the blinds like long fingers poking me awake. I sink my face back into the pillow with a groan but the clock states it clearly, 7 O'clock, time to get up. The duvet curls itself around me, pinning me to the bed and I feel myself start to fall back asleep. Back to the place where my mind told the stories. But no, the government has decided that all children should go to school, and who am I to mess with the government? It is my last year of sixth form anyway. I climb out of bed, away from the safe haven and out into the real world, quickly scuttling across my room to the docking station, my bare feet tingling every time they hit the cold wooden floor. As the soothing tones of the smiths dribble from the speakers, I wrap my shirt around me, fiddling with the buttons. I feel like I am forgetting something. The words flood through the air;

_And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die_

Now I remember, his face all crinkled and laughing shoots into my mind. Dan. I rush over, my shirt still half-open, and pick up my phone. No messages. I decide to text him myself, it had been more than long enough. I lean against the wall beside my bedside table and unlock my phone, guiding myself to messages. I tap my fingers annoyingly against the glass screen as I think of what to say. What angle to go from? Time ticks away and soon enough I realise that I have to get ready now otherwise I'll miss my bus. I decide to go simple;

_**Hi Dan, this is Phil x**_

A response comes back almost immediately, the little tinkle of the text tone pulling the corners of my mouth into a small and secret smile. I imagine him waiting eagerly for me to contact him, his slender fingers hovering over the phone in doubt.

_**Hi Phil! How are you today?**_

_**Good thanks, just running a little late for school x**_

_**Oops I better let you go then x**_

_**I'll text you on the bus x**_

_**Okay x**_

_**Hey I made it to the bus x**_

_**Yay!**_

_**Do you want to meet up again soon? **_I type, my fingers racing over the keys before I take it back _**Before I forget what your cute face looks like? **_Was that a step too far? I feel my breathing deepen.

**_Sure, though I'm not sure I could forget your face ;) _**I beam, attracting strange looks from strangers. Was Dan flirting with me? Did he like me too?

_**Dan's POV**_

I face palm internally as I walk, my phone clutched tightly in my grasp, one eye on the path ahead. Why did I say that? That sounded so stupid and cheesy. I feel my shirt sleeve begin to ride up, revealing the angry looking marks hidden below. I quickly scramble to pull my sleeve back down again, tugging it so it covers the base of my palm. With a speed that borders on paranoia, I turn my head round checking to see if anyone had seen, as if anyone even cared. Somehow in the whole scrambled affair, I had managed to drop my phone on the floor and it's contents now lie scattered before me like an exhibit in the Tate modern. As I gather the pieces together, my face redder than a tomato, I swear I can hear people laughing. There we go again; paranoia. I face my head angrily towards the ground, hating the little voice inside of my mind that endlessly screams 'they hate you, they all hate you. Can't you see that they're all staring at you?' I try to focus on something else, instead thinking about what I would name an art piece which involved scattered phone pieces. My mind runs through doors, I like setting myself challenges like this. I finally settle on a tie between 'This is the End' and 'Lost Dreams.'

By the time I have come to that conclusion, I have almost reached school, my feet dragging me towards the looming buildings. Every step I take seems to mock me 'Why are you doing this?' they seem to whisper. And the truth is I have no answer. Why am I doing this? Why am I intentionally walking into the gates of hell? Who is going to stop me if I take off, running down the road and out in to town? The government? It always comes back to the bloody government. With a small tinkling noise my phone turns itself back on and I smile when I see I have another text from Phil. Maybe this will help me through today.

_**Well just in case how about we meet tonight? Are you free? x**_

My heart starts to speed up like it is approaching the final stretch of a very long and arduous race and I can't help myself from smiling like a madman, my lips stretching so wide I am surprised they don't snap off completely. My mind races and my fingers ache to text back but I am approaching the steel gates and so I shove my phone into my pocket before a teacher can take away my life source. I can already feel the happiness being sapped from my very soul. I intend to text Phil back once I am inside of the gates, to find a dark and dingy corner and perform the illegal action but the bell goes, signalling my impending doom.

**_Phil's POV_**

Every time anything moves or vibrates in the slightest I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my chest. Is it my phone? Has Dan texted back? But alas it never is. Certain words slip into my bubble of consciousness, just the odd one, like 'congruent' or 'cosine' but other than that the walls are pretty thick. By the time the bell goes and my bubble pops I have learnt nothing and it is the end of the lesson.

Even throughout break I am on edge, moving about from foot to foot with a jittery quality associated with a toddler who's had one too many ice lollies. I can't even focus on Chris's story and all I see are slight blurs of his wild gesticulations as my eyes dart around, running from the football pitch to the maths block, to the floor, anywhere but the phone burning a hole in my pocket. I try not to fall into the pit of self doubt.

_**Dan's POV**_

I end up staying through break for 'not focusing hard enough'. Normally I wouldn't care, I have no where to go at break anyway and I usually just end up awkwardly shuffling round in circles waiting for the metal sound to ring through the air. But not today, I squirm in my seat, desperate to get out of there, my eyes burning a hole in the tattered red door. I see a smile play across the teachers face as she sharpens her pencil for the third time in a row before talking to me. She feeds off this stuff; like a human embodiment of a dementor or something. When she finally calls my forward I swear she curls her finger crookedly, the perfect image of the witch from snow white. She uses my full name too, which makes me shudder, that's what _he _always calls me.

She finally lets me go and I dart out of the door, snagging my eyes on a giant ticking clock. Five minutes. I dash round the corner, slamming straight into some year sevens whose faces remind me of Harry, Ron and Hermione when they first saw Fluffy; the giant three headed dog. But I have no time to be Mr. Nice guy, not today. I swing the door open to the toilets, feeling relief flood my chest to see that there is no one from my year here. I hurry down the aisle and hide in one of the cubicles, pulling my phone from the cotton stitched pocket inside of my blazer. Fingers racing and mind more than aware of time, I type my message;

_**Yes of course.** _My geometry paper will just have to wait till later, I think. _**How about we go to the cinema?**_

Phil replies immediately.

_**Yes! That would be great, I love the cinema. How about we see Silver Linings Playbook? **_

I smile to myself, I had wanted to see that film for so long that I was actually contemplating taking the walk of shame to the cinema alone.

_**I have wanted to see that film for ages! :) (I mean it's got Jennifer Lawrence, who doesn't want to see that)**_

_**Haha :) See you at 6, then?**_

_**It's a date.** _

But is it the kind of date I want it to be?

_**Phil's POV**_

I perch awkwardly on top of a small stone wall just outside of the cinema, my feet swinging back and forth in their bright red converse shoes. I try my best to look boyishly charming, with my swinging legs and hands pressed firmly against the upside of the wall but somehow I manage to slip, grazing my hand along the stones and falling backwards onto the pavement, with my legs still caught on the wall. And that is how Dan finds me. I hear his laughter and my cheeks turn bright red as I try and melt further into the pavement out of embarrassment.  
"What _are _you doing?" he says, laughing  
"I fell off the wall." I say sheepishly  
"Phil, the wall is this high." Dan says, bending down to motion with hand.  
"Well I have very poor balance."

Rain begins to splatter down and without warning Dan grabs my hands and runs towards the giant open doors that lead to the cinema.  
"What was that about?" I splutter as we reach shelter. Dan looks down at the floor,  
"I don't like the rain."  
"How come?" His cheeks begin to flush a little  
"It makes my hair go curly." I laugh and sure enough just where there had previously been splotches of rain drops, his fringe had begin to curl, his hair looking like a wave of deep brown ocean.  
"Aww why?" I say "It looks so cute."  
"Go away." he says as he playfully punches me in the arm "I look like a frickin hobbit." I laugh some more  
"The resemblance is uncanny."  
"Shut up." But the truth is I don't think it looks bad at all, I could spend hours running my eyes over each individual curl, whole days wishing that I could run my hands through his silky soft hair. Whoah Phil. I stop myself before I can go any further, I seriously need to tone down the creepiness.

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_**Okay**__**sorry that not a whole lot happened but I hope you liked it anyway *laughs nervously* so the next chapter is the date chapter which should be fun. Thank you so so much for reading and please review!**_


	4. Laughter Lines

_**Thank you to tffnyblows, witbeyondmeasurexox, wonderfulfun and uhnonniemiss for reviewing the last chapter, hope you enjoy this one. Here we go;**_

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_**Phil's POV**_

We climb the stairs, the sharp edges of the steps lit only by glowing artificial light. Posters for films line the cracked walls in silver frames and my eye is caught by the dashing colours and popping titles as I trudge upwards. The stairs seem to last for ages and I have to hold back a slight groan at the introduction to any kind of exercise. This is my local cinema. It is small and old, the seats worn to a faded red and small cracks littering all the walls. There is only one screen and only one guy working here. Sometimes in my head I wish my small town would get a bigger cinema with shiny screens and giant popcorn machines and mood lighting but then I snap myself out of it. As much as I like to moan and as much as I like to wish, I love this cinema. I love it despite of it's endless flaws. I love it in spite of the fact that it only just turned digital. I love it even though the wave of buttery popcorn doesn't hit you the moment you walk through the door. I love it because it feels familiar and it feels homely and, just like old films, it feels warm and like it's wrapping you up in a giant hug.

We reach the last step and Dan sighs with a fake relief. That's what British people do, moan about things that we secretly love, like the rain or the accent. For some reason I seem to have paused on the last stone step and Dan turns to look at me. I have to stop my breath from catching as the light hits his face, illuminating his sculpted features and highlighting his dark locks. The little half smirk he wears on his lips makes my heart pound and I stumble as I start walking again, towards the double doors that lead to the cinema room.

Entering the room, the familiar sight hits me, the rows of red chairs with a few people littered around. The ceilings that scrape upwards leading to balconies above. The old signs coating the walls. This place used to be a Sunday school and posters thanking various benefactors have been left in, presumably for that homely effect that I love so much. The air feels warm and friendly. Me and Dan walk to the desk (there is nobody else there, one of the reasons I love it so much) and buy our tickets. The man on the desk knows me and his sagging face twitches upwards when he sees me, he asks me how I am as he unrolls the circle of tickets, snapping one off and handing it to me. I reply chattily. Today I am in a very good mood. Dan lingers just slightly ahead, waiting for me to join him and the man tilts his head suggestively towards Dan, raising his eyebrows. I feel the blush rise to my cheeks and I smile slightly, taking my ticket and sitting by Dan in my regular seat.

A few more people dribble into the room before the film starts, taking their pick from the many seats that still lie empty. Then the screen flickers to life and the edges roll up to reveal an even larger screen than the one that sat there before. The lights dim, the darkness closing around me. The film begins.

_**Dan's POV**_

The film is good, it's funny and clever and deep and emotional. But I am distracted. I am distracted by the proximity of mine and Phil's bodies. I am distracted by the wisp of black hair that has abandoned the rest of his fringe. I am distracted by his long white fingers, so tantalizingly close and yet so desperately far. But most of all I am distracted by his lips. His lips that are such a perfect shade of pastel pink, his lips that twitch as his eyes absorb the magic of the film, his lips that are so innocent, so unassuming, displaying his every emotion like a window to his soul. I let my eyes run over them. His head turns and his eyes catch mine, the bright blue so obvious even in partial darkness. Uh-oh, busted. He smiles, the lips sculpting themselves upwards and I can't help but smile back. His hand reaches for mine, his fingers curling across my open palm. Inside, my chest is swirling, my heart performing somersaults like it's some sort of arena but on the outside I only smile slightly, letting my emotion rampage inside.

For a few seconds we remain like that, just two smiling faces in all of the world. The screen a blur behind us and our clasped hands the centre of our own universe. But Phil's eyes are dragged away and he fixes back onto the screen, still unable to tame the twitch in the corner of his mouth. That's when the worrying begins. I am a worrier at heart, never able to assess any situation without flailing into panic mode. Is this a friendly gesture? Is my hand too warm? Too cold? Does he like me? Or does he just pity me? Any concentration I had for the film has gone and I am left gazing across Phil's face again with a hopeful expression dwindling in my eyes.

In my incessant worrying, I accidentally jerk my hand slightly and Phil turns once more, his eyes lighting up and the glare off the screen lighting up the right side of his face. And just like that he is kissing me, his carven lips touching mine and his hand snaking it's way into my hair, caressing my ear, his long elegant fingers clutching the back of my head. I can barely think, it feels as if my head has been filled with air. It only lasts a few seconds but those few seconds seem to shine brighter than the last few months of my clouded existence. I start to wonder about the existence of angels and whether Phil could really be one and whether this could really be happening and I go to pinch myself awake before realising that nobody had said anything in the last few minutes and that Phil was staring at me, his teeth tugging on his lower lip nervously.

"I'm sorry." whispers Phil and I am confused before it sparks me. He has taken my silence to mean that I didn't want him to do that and that I don't like him. But he can't think that, that's not true. I don't know how to express my feelings in words so I just crash my lips to his again, feeling him and smile and feeling my fingers tingle as magic runs through my veins.

The film progresses as a series of hand squeezes and sidelong glances and soon it is finished. I look across to see Phil as the light floods the room once more and he beams, still not dropping my hand as we shuffle past the seats and out into the corridor. Here our smiles grow and Phil leans down to kiss me again, slower this time, no screen blaring behind us reminding us of reality and no awkward glances from strangers. His lips move alongside mine and I move my hands, this time getting to run my hands through his hair like I had dreamed of doing.

Outside, darkness has fallen and little stars twinkle in the sky like holes in the blanket of the night. I wrap my coat closer around me before joining my hand back to Phil's, feeling completely comfortable. The wind is back again and it shakes the lampposts slightly letting the chalk-like glow waver across the pavement. I am too busy thinking about Phil and the light and the stars to notice the small stone wall that lies in my way. With an intake of breath, my foot knocks into the stones and I trip, stumbling over the end of the wall. I almost hit the floor but Phil catches me in his arms, hauling me back up to my feet.  
"You really are clumsy aren't you?" Phil says.  
"It's your fault."  
"How is it my fault?!"  
"You're such a distraction."  
"Well I am sorry, I cannot help being so drop-dead gorgeous."  
"Well could you try? If I hang round with you much longer I am going to end up breaking a leg."  
"I don't think it is me. I think you're part clown."  
"Damn it, now my secret is out."  
"Don't worry you can trust me."  
"Can I though?"  
"You can trust me with anything." Phil says, his eyes suddenly a lot more serious and his voice having dropped an octave.

Phil walks me home, the winding streets lit only by moonlight. We talk and talk about all sorts of things from the possibility of an afterlife to Pokémon. We reach the top of my street and I stop still, the weight of anxiety and misery hitting me, making me fall further in my current state of elation.  
"What's wrong?" Phil says.  
"Nothing, this is my street, I can go from here." Phil looks wary but kisses me quickly before taking one last longing look and walking into the distance, his coat fluttering in the wind. I take a deep breath and walk. The street glistens with raindrops and the moon lights them up making it seem more like a diamond pavement than one made of the harsh material of concrete. Even from the pretty pearl gates of two houses along I can hear the shouting. Above me it starts to thunder as the rain starts. Thank you, nature, driving me straight into harms way. A lightning strike flashes and the whole street lights up in a rather eerie glow and I almost expect zombies to start crawling from the drains. I scurry forwards, I don't want to stay here, I don't want to go home, I just want to be clutched in Phil's arms but he is gone. Reluctantly I open the door to my house.

The words hit me like a tidal wave. The usual angry torrents swarm the air like tracker jackers and I set my sights on the stairs, hoping I can run up them before he notices I'm here. I race towards them but my legs are shaking and I trip on the first stair, whacking my chin hard enough that my teeth rattle. I feel a warm metal-like substance fill my mouth. I hold the tears back. When you feel so happy you only have further to fall. I look up, my head feeling sore and catch the scene, the light bursting through the slightly open door; the shadow of John with his hand held high and my mother cowering below like a puppy, except no matter how hard she tries to submit she can't escape it. I feel a tiny squeak fall out of my mouth, I feel so hopeless. The shadow figure turns around and his eyes harden. I jolt upwards and run up the stairs, ignoring my scraped knee and bleeding jaw.

I run to my room and slam the door shut, jumping over my bed and hiding behind it, knees tucked tight to my chest. The last thing I see is his feet, standing firmly in my doorway.

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_**Yes I am sorry this isn't as long and I am not really happy with how it turned out but than you for reading and please please review! :)**_


	5. Scare Away The Dark

_**okay so it's been a little while but I never made any promises so ha. This took 2 days to write and is super long (for me) and so I really hope you appreciate it and it is worth the wait. Plus look how dedicated I am, I typed a lot of this out on an iPad (which is pretty frickin hard) anyway I'm rambling, hope you like it, here you go;**_

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_**Phil's POV**_

My phone beeps and once again my heart flips with a shock of hope. Could it be him? I haven't seen him, haven't heard from him since the night of the great kiss, the night beneath the stars. His face is forever imprinted within my brain; his mouth upturned into a small secret smile but his eyes displaying something else, something darker as he turns to walk away, his feet clanging against the pavement. I should have asked what was wrong. I kick myself for not asking what was wrong.

It's been a week; no texts, no calls, no dates. I have been trying to get on with my life, to convince myself that I don't need him, that the slight ache I constantly feel in my chest is just indigestion or some kind of pathogen. But the truth is every moment feels colder and emptier like there is a dementor lingering in the corner of my room. Every time I try and listen to music the lyrics remind me of him. Every time I try and watch something my mind resorts to worrying about him. I really hope he's okay. Oh god why didn't I ask? I see the pastel sky fade to grey and finally black as the sun swaps places with the moon. The night has begun but the worrying never stops.

_**Dan's POV**_

The bass pounds and my throat burns. I can't even taste it any more, all it is is hot fiery liquid pouring down my throat like a twisted theme park ride. It is dark. People are shouting but I no longer hear them, they are just whispers in the wind. Wind. Why does wind seem so familiar? A face flashes quickly before my eyes, just a quick dash of black locks and blue eyes. A name enters my mind like smoke and I almost have a chance to read it, to grasp it between my fingers before it floats away. The darkness seems so tangible and,y unaware of my own actions, I feel myself reach out, my hand rising and fingers grappling at the black. They fall short, or fall through. It would seem the darkness does not wish to be touched. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I think it's a hand. Maybe it's the hand of the ghost of blackness. I whip round to see the edges of a face. The darkness does not want to show me his features. But that doesn't matter. All that matters is the joint that lies clutched in his hand, the grey smoke curling into the darkness, whispering, inviting me in. My heart starts to pump as the smoke curls its way into my nostrils, dancing along my tongue. Craving fills my veins and my pupils focus upon the smoke. The stranger hands it to me and I grab it, all self control or intelligence lost in the moment. In the corner of my eye I see the stranger amble away, just another deal in the night and then it is just me and the smoke that fills my lungs.

I jolt awake. My back is leaning against something hard and my legs seem to be dangling free. I feel a breeze run over my kneecaps. My head feels lighter than air, like my brain has detached and floated off into space. I try and figure out where I am but my old friend blurriness is back. Distantly I see a smudge in the darkness, a fault in it's cloak, the moon perhaps? I look down and feel myself start to slip. I don't think I am capable of panic right now. Instead I just place my sweaty palms against the white wood and peer downwards once more. It sure is a long fall, I think, glancing at the swarming bushes and swirling grass below. It seems to taunt me. It seems both beautiful and dangerous. Do I jump? Will I go to the next level or will the game be over? I am too confused and suddenly I feel sad. I feel tears begin to climb up my throat. I know where I am now. I am on a window ledge.

Suddenly the cool surroundings are intercepted. I feel a heated presence and I lazily turn my head. Besides me is a boy, his hair sweaty and his eyes blanked of all meaning. I can't even tell the colour of his eyes and that makes me sad. I don't talk, instead I fight the urge to fall from the window into oblivion. I feel a hand upon my thigh. Are the shadow creatures back? Now the tears really do fall out of pure terror. I don't like the shadow creatures. The boy sees the tears but no sympathy flashes onto his face. Instead he just moves closer until the heat from his body is searing onto my skin. I understand now. Even through the haze I can see his intentions. In my mind his face warps into that of my step-father. I attempt to shuffle away but he just clings harder, his face coming closer and closer until I can see the beads of sweat rolling off of his forehead. I don't like this. Maybe he is the minion of the shadow people. I wriggle but he still he will not go. I hear my own voice like an echo from far away, I don't know where I am, I don't like the arms. Why won't the arms go? The arms won't listen and it's time to proceed to the next level and so I jump.

As I fall I feel the cold air surround me, like tiny hands slapping me awake. The cool breeze opens my eyes, the wind rubs at my corneas and even in the state of being mid air I can tell some of the haziness has gone. Gone enough that I begin to feel the headache which the mist usually blocks. I land with a snap and a distant cry of pain. What happened? Who screamed? I must go help them. But instead I lie there because I am a failure. I lie and clutch my legs in a ball of twigs and regret. Nobody's going to help me. Why do I feel pain? Did the shadow king find me? Grass tickles my throat and I cough and it burns so hard that the crying begins again. What's going on? Why am I on the floor? I attempt to stand but my legs feel like they were 'fixed' by Lockhart and I fall. I decide I am a worm. I wriggle along the grass. The cool air hits me again and again and again and I begin to sober up a little. Now I know I am not a worm. I wonder how long I lay there. I try to stand but my legs sting too much. I don't remember what happened there.

I manage to stand, grateful that some alcohol still swims in my bloodstream to take the edge off the pain. I clutch onto the wall with one hand and hold the other to my ribcage which seems rather too flimsy for a set of bones. I try to recall what happened but all I remember is bird and then worm and then man. I continue to shuffle. I have no idea what time it is but the darkness is still lurking and the moon is still shining. My eyes watch as my feet crawl along the pavement. Bam! I feel myself crash into something. Cold metal strikes my face and I rebound, greeting the floor once more. I shout blindly as my eyes begin to sow themselves shut.

**_Phil's POV_**

This is stupid. It's 3am why can't you sleep? I scream to myself as I toss and turn, crumpling my sheets and denting my duvet. The same things continue to race around my mind, snatching at my sleep and soiling the sane part of my brain. Well, the same person really, just in lots of different forms.

Enough is enough I decide, ceremoniously jumping from my bed and snatching my phone, dialling the number I now know more than off by heart. Ring, ring. Thump, thump. Ring, ring. Thump, thump. Ring, ring. Hope falls. I run quickly over the message I will leave in my head.  
'Hi Dan. I hope you're okay. We haven't spoken in a while. I miss you, let's hang out yeah?'  
But I don't get to say it because just as the last ring sounds and the noise almost ceases to exist, the phone crackles and I hear a rather high but rough voice state "Hello."  
"Hello. Umm have I got the right number? Is Dan there?"  
"Are you his friend?"  
"Err yeah, why?"  
"Well I just found this young boy passed out on the street, looks umm about 17? I'm guessing this is his phone then?"  
"Oh god, does he have brown hair and eyes?"  
"Well his eyes are shut but his hair does seem to be brown yes."  
"Oh my god. Is he okay?"  
"Doesn't look too good to me. Look mate I really have to get going."  
"Okay. Okay. Will you tell me where you are and I'll come and get him."  
"Yeah course. I'm just down the road from Hayfield primary, opposite the chippy. Know where that is?" I try and picture the place in my mind.  
"Yes I think so, thank you so much."  
"S'ok" she says and hangs up.

I feel panic ringing in every cell in my body. How to get there? I could walk but that could take ages, by which point Dan could have been robbed or beaten or become completely unconscious. I pace up and down, praying that my parents don't awaken. But then my eyes fall upon the window. The window with the moonlight glistening off it like a mystical lake from Italy. The window from which Dan jumped and disappeared into the night. My brain locks like a trigger, ready to shoot. Climb from window, get into car, find Dan, bring him home. Without hesitating, I hoist up the window and swing so that I am sitting on the ledge. I stare down at the bushes below, the dark making them seem more sinister, more like miniature monsters than simple plants. I take a deep breath. It is only one floor but somehow it seems like more. It's okay, it's okay, I whisper to myself as a soothing mantra, if Dan can do it, so can you. Dan isn't some kind of mythical hero (although it would make more sense if he was). With blind care and panic I slam my eyes shut and jump, landing on my side in the soft grass. My natural instinct is to curl into a ball, bring my sore legs full circle with my arms and wait to die. But there is no time for that, now. Dan needs me. I smile in spite of it all. Dan needs me. It sounds like love.

The car is freezing cold, the air biting at my cheeks and ankles and anywhere that it can reach. I am still in pyjamas and feeling the cold rattle my bones. As I put the key into the ignition I can see my breath in front of me, forming little clouds of doubt in my mind. They make the view hazy and combined with the ice that has called the windscreen it's own, I struggle to see the road. In my moment of blind panic, I also seem to have forgotten that I am actually blind and I think of my glasses sitting innocently on my bedside table as I squint at the road ahead. It's okay, I soothe, you can see well enough. Dan needs you. This seems to be becoming a bit of an anthem.

I drive down dark road after dark road, only the gentle glow of the streetlamps above to guide me through the night. I go wrong a few times, and crash into a few bins and pavement curbs but nothing tragic. The whole time I can't stop thinking about Dan. In my mind it is worse than it probably is in reality. In my mind he is lay, on the very edge of death, in a pool of thick and sticky blood. And quite frankly, it terrifies me. Not only that I am his one lifeline in the world but also that I have fallen so hard that I am driving around blind at three in the morning wearing only pyjamas on possibly the coldest day of the year.

But I am snapped out of my thoughts when I see him, lying on the pavement, trying to cradle his leg in the palm of his hand. At least he is conscious. I quickly halt the car, leaving it thrown in the middle of the street, swing open the door and run to him, sliding down onto my knees and kissing his forehead gently.  
"Dan." he murmurs slightly "Dan!" I say shaking him this time. His eyes open every so slightly just for a second, the whites bloodshot. Even in the dim light I can see the deep grey bruises that scatter the side of his face and the cuts lining his back where his t-shirt has pulled down slightly. I frown, puzzled. How can bruises have formed already?  
"Dan!" I shout again, hoping and praying to anyone who'll listen that this time he'll wake up. And they must be listening because his eyes open and he makes an effort to sit up, still clutching his leg and wincing in pain.  
"I need to stop waking up to your eyes." he says "It just makes the rest of the day seem duller." I smile widely, unable to contain the happiness that leaks from me and I throw my arms around him feeling him flinch.  
"Oww oww, Phil, incase you can't see, I'm in pain." I feel tears begin to leak from my eyes, oh great Phil what's he going to think of you now?  
"So, so you're okay?" I manage to stumble.  
"I feel better, drunk wise, but my leg feels as if it's on fire." I look down at the ground, Dan had never talked to me or even openly mentioned his drinking problem to me before.  
"I'm taking you to hospital" I say, feeling confidence surge through me as I stand up. It was my duty to help him.  
"No, Phil. You can't do that." he says, a slight whimper of pain adding to the end of the sentence.  
"Why not?" I ask, confused.  
"Because he'll find out and I'll get in so much trouble." I frown again.  
"Who? Your parents?"  
"Yes." Dan says, although I see that there is more to it than that. Now is not the time to ask though.  
"We don't have to tell them." I say, letting my paternal side take over. "I'll go with you and then you can stay at mine for tonight if you want."  
"You promise?" he asks, sounding like a tiny little boy.  
"I promise." I say, just hoping that that is a promise I can keep.

I try and help him up, letting him lean on me with his arms wrapped around my shoulders. He tipples slightly but somehow gets to his feet, hobbling along on only one leg. Except, in the process of helping him up, the buttons on his shirt sleeves come undone, revealing slashes and scars in various states of heal. I know what they are and my heart sinks, Dan is a lot more broken than I thought. I just want to hug him and tell him that it's all going to be okay, and kiss him until he believes that he is beautiful and for him to let my love chip away at the sadness in his life. But for now the problem he needs help with is physical and he needs me to be there. I take a vow, right now, that I will always be there to help Dan and I intend to keep it. He hasn't seen that the buttons have come undone and he certainly hasn't seen me staring and I decide that now is not the right time to talk about it.

Dan is leaning on my heavily, more like me dragging him than helping him to walk. The darkness is still intense and my lack of sight still present to the point where fear fills me up. I see glimpses of shadows and shapes moving in the dark as the lamppost light begins to flicker before going out completely. Great. I'm sure this is the opening scene to some kind of horror film. My bare feet begin to shake and I become aware of how cold they are, pressed against the rough and damp ground. Keep your head high, I whisper to myself. Dan needs you. Shakily I make it to the car and carry Dan through the (thankfully still open from before) door and onto the seats. A little moan escapes from his lips and I kiss him gently on his forehead. "It will all be over soon." I whisper, but I really don't know how true that is anymore.

I dash round the front of the car, clambering into the driver's side, putting the key into the ignition and letting the headlights lull me into a false sense of security.

I drive a lot slower than my heart is telling me too, endlessly conscious that I will crash the car, but eventually we make it to the hospital. Small lights light up the car park and the lit up sign flickers, reading; 'Hayfield Hospital'. Dan seems to be a little better now. His usually tanned skin is pale and clammy and his hair looks like it is hiding a family of birds. I notice that the skin around his nose and on his lips is inflamed slightly and it doesn't take me too long to figure out why. My heart begins to fall further and further into despair. What if my love isn't enough?

Although from the outside the hospital seemed gloomy and abandoned, inside every corridor is a glow with bright lights, a few tired-looking doctors bustling around carrying clip boards and boxes. We check in at the desk, Dan leaning less on me now and able to take a few steps of his own. I explain the situation to the woman behind the desk as she tries to mask the disapproving look that threatens to spill onto her face. She gives us some forms to fill in and I help Dan into the waiting area.  
"Name?" I ask, pen hovering over the page  
"Daniel Howell." He says through gritted teeth  
"Age?"  
"Sixteen."  
"Address?"  
"74 Fairfield road, SK179GQ"  
"Blood group?"  
"I don't know."  
"Regular doctor?"  
"I don't know."  
"Medical History?"  
"I don't know." I continue to stare down at the form, willing my mind not to run through open doors, not to wonder why Dan knows so little about himself and his health, but it is too late.  
"I'm sure it doesn't matter." I say  
"Huh?"  
"The stuff you don't know. It probably isn't vital information."  
"Oh yeah."

Me and Dan continue to sit there for a while, my hand clutched around the form and the silence deafening. Dan leans down and rests his head on my shoulder and I relax a little letting my hands comb through his hair.  
"Phil?" I hear him whisper "I'm scared."  
"Of what?" I say soothingly  
"Everything." He says as I can feel him breathing, his chest moving up and down against mine. It all gets to be a bit too much, too overwhelming as I stare at the broken boy collapsed in my arms. The boy who has captured my heart yet believes he is worthless. The boy that stands scared against the harsh world. I feel an overwhelming urge to hold him in my arms and just cradle him, protecting him from the winds that will tear away at his life.  
"Daniel?" a soft voice calls from across the room and I give Dan an encouraging smile as my eyes catch sight of his face; soft, weak, the whole thing looking like it wants to collapse in on itself. Fear flashes in his eyes. I help him up and over towards the clear white door from which the calling came. We reach the frame but a nurse sticks out a hand, her bony fingers tickling my stomach.  
"I'm sorry," she says a slight lilt in her voice. "You'll have to stay out here." Dan clings to me, his fingers lacing around my arm.  
"It's okay, Dan, I'll be right out here." I say with a smile, refusing to let my emotions bubble up.

I sit on a chair just a few metres from the door into which Dan disappeared, my fingers tapping anxiously on the smooth wood of the arm rests and my feet tapping against the carpeted floor. The room is filled with pictures of islands and oceans, I suppose to make you feel calm. I do not feel calm. I feel like a fucking whirlwind.

I am just trying to figure out whether the sea in the picture above me is green or blue when Dan comes back out. Crutches are laced around his wrist and there is the sparkling addition of a bandage around his ankle but he looks okay. I quickly scan my eyes nervously over his body for any other signs of harm. When did I get to be so protective? He smiles weakly although I see his lips waver slightly.  
"He's fine." The nurse says, smiling "Just a sprain and some scratches, nothing that can't be overcome." I smile back,  
"Thank you so much." I say as I open the door for Dan, waving as I go. I help Dan into the car, securing his crutches and shutting the door with a slight bang that echoes through the night. I climb back into my seat, letting myself melt into the leather with a sigh.  
"I have got to stop letting you save me." Dan says and a little tinkle of laughter finally escapes from his lips making the stars seem less bright and the moon less luminous.

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**Thank you for reading and please review! **


	6. Snap Out Of It

_**Wait, what?! I actually uploaded on time? (Warning this chapter is apple phobic and contains some sentences regarding the hatred of apples) Thank you so super much to the lovely wonderfulfun, witbeyondmeasurexox, kittykat0989 and uhnonniemiss for reviewing and being generally nice and yay thankyou. This is a happy chapter so you can breathe a sigh of relief, here we go;**_

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_**Dan's POV**_

My eyelids flutter open and the light greets them like an old friend. Beside me I can feel an arm pressed against my spine, warm and soft. It feels strange to wake up with someone beside me rather than the empty, desolate land of the bed sheets. But not in a bad way, it feels comforting and instantly puts a smile onto my face. I roll over, feeling a pain shoot through my lower leg and an ache begin to spread through my head. I groan slightly. Phil is beside me, his hair covers half of his face, leaking into the pillow below and his hands are clutched together just below his lips. I feel an overwhelming urge to kiss him and engulf him in my arms but even filled as I am with the grogginess of the morning after and cursed with a hangover I know that that would be a bad idea. I still barely know him. It would seem my movement and groaning has woken Phil up as his eyes open and the blue shoots straight to my heart. Half of me is thinking 'you need to stop waking up to those eyes' and the other half is screaming a desire to wake up to them everyday. He smiles upon seeing my face in close proximity to his own and I realise I should probably pull back a little but I don't want to, I want to admire his face from the closest I can possibly be. I feel him draw his arm back from where it was lying, just millimetres from stroking the stretch of skin that had been revealed when my t-shirt had lifted up. Wait. This is not my t-shirt, I think, glancing at the red cloth that covers my skin.  
"Did you change my clothes last night?" I ask Phil. He blushes deeply, the red running through his cheeks like it is in a marathon and it is the final stretch. It isn't long before his whole face resembles the redness of Rudolph's nose.  
"Just your top half! Your t-shirt, well, umm, it was covered in mud and it was soaking wet and umm well I just thought-" Phil says, his eyes fixing on the mattress and looking like he wants to become part of the duvet, "Well that it may be more comfortable and well I'm s-" but he doesn't get any further before I kiss him, putting my hand under his chin and guiding it to face me, our lips connecting together as his hand moves instinctively to my waist.  
"It's okay." I say and I wrap my arms around him, bringing him into my chest and letting him bury his head into my shoulder.

We just stay like that for a while, completely comfortable in silence. That's the thing about spending time with people you really care about, you can spend hours talking without realising the sun has set and yet you can sit and exchange no words without the spikes of awkwardness poking you into starting generic discussions. It's quite a beautiful thing.  
"This would look really strange if my parents walked in right now." Phil says with a giggle and I feel his breath on my bare shoulder.  
"Yes a strange man in your bed, what would they think of you?"  
"They don't even know your here, do you have any idea how hard it is to sneak a 6ft boy with a sprained ankle and crutches into the house at four in the morning?" I laugh, but it is nervous laughter,  
"You don't have to risk getting in trouble for me, Phil." I say and he smiles  
"Don't worry, you're worth it." I frown  
"I'm not sure I am." I mentally kick myself as soon as the words spill from my lips, I really need to stop feeling sorry for myself and attention seeking.  
"Of course you are, Dan, have you looked in a mirror?"  
"Have you?" he scoffs and I try to turn the conversation into something else, unwrapping my arms from around him as I become burningly conscious of the slashes in my arms and the short sleeves of the top.  
"Is everything okay?" Phil says, his voice a whisper but the concern still shining through.  
"Yes." I say but Phil's eyes are drawn to my arm which isn't quite covered by the duvet. I wriggle awkwardly.  
"I umm I already know, I umm saw umm last night." says Phil  
"Oh"  
"You should know umm that I don't judge you and that I am here for you umm. Do you want to talk about it?" I shake my head, consciously moving away slightly.  
"Maybe someday." and he nods, the sadness growing wider in his eyes.  
"Ssh Sshh it's not you, it's me okay, I'm not quite ready to talk about it to anyone yet." I say and I kiss him once more on the lips. It's the strangest thing; when I'm with Phil I feel like a different person, a better person, a happier person, a more confident version of myself.

"We should do something today." I announce, climbing out of bed, forgetting about my sprained ankle and falling straight flat on my face. Phil laughs,  
"You're such a klutz, you're supposed to be resting." he says, sitting up slightly and revealing his bare chest. I try not to stare.  
"I don't want to rest." I mutter like a stubborn toddler, sitting up and rubbing my ankle. Phil stands up, walking across the room, and passes me my crutches. "Thank you." I say, trying to use the bottom ends of the crutches as a sort of lever to pull me up. It fails miserably. Phil sees this and laughs. He pulls a shirt over his head quickly, allowing me to gape over his arms as they move.  
"Here." he says walking towards me. He wraps his arms under my arms and lifts me onto the bed, passing me the crutches once more. "Now try." he says with a laugh. And I smile despite the pain because Phil is here and Phil seems to radiate some kind of happiness that is slowly leaking into my skin. I manage to stand up right this time and I hobble and swing towards Phil, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." I say and he blushes.

My stomach rumbles beneath Phil's t-shirt and Phil turns to look from where he is sitting, checking his twitter as he talks to me.  
"I think somebody's hungry." he says raising his eyebrows.  
"Maybe just a little." I say shyly. "I have some money, I can go to the shop?" I suggest.  
"No it's okay we have food."  
"But your parents don't know I'm here?" Phil's face falls with realisation before standing back up again as an idea hits him.  
"Wait here a second." He scuttles up and across the room, opening and closing the white door behind him. From down the hallway, I hear parental calls of 'Oh Phil so you're finally up then?'

I stay in Phil's room still endlessly fascinated by the colourful explosions of colour and thought that cover the walls before I notice that my skinny jeans, usually a dark black colour are now littered with splashes of mud and sticky stains as well as the occasional smudge of grass stains. I sigh, what did I even do last night? I guess alcohol is like that for a reason. I guess it covers all memories with a slight haze, lets fog run wild on your mind so that the pain of embarrassment and regret is less sharp when you wake up. I am usually grateful for this but right now I just want to know what happened, what Phil saw and what I put him through. I decide to get dressed. I press my hands against the soft duvet that covers Phil's bed and pull myself up, throwing back my shoulders and arching out my chest. Once I am sat on the bed, I reach for the crutches that lie crossed on the floor, like an 'x' marking the spot. Hobbling and starting to feel more and more sorry for myself without my happiness source beside me, I make my way to the chest of drawers. I've only been here twice and I can already see that Phil is not a tidy person. Clothes lie scattered around the base of the wooden drawers and clothes have been stuffed in, hanging half way in and halfway out. This makes me smile, it is endearing that he is so scattered and it reminds me of his hair, lying messily atop of his head, not in a I'm-too-cool-to-care-kind-of-way but just that he is too lazy. I wonder what he would think if he stood in my room. Would the cracked walls and filthy sheets reflect my inner brokenness? I decide not to delve too deep into that problem.

I rummage through his drawers, trying to find a pair of jeans, but all it is is t-shirt after t-shirt. Red t-shirts, blue t-shirts, green t-shirts it's like a fucking rainbow through up into his drawer. I decide to open another drawer, having to drop one crutch and lean further on the other, standing on one leg. I am in danger of falling over, but it is the only way of lowering myself enough to open the next drawer. When I open it I see that this drawer is less like rainbow vomit and more like a midnight cave, I think I have found the drawer I am looking for. A few pairs of black skinny jeans lie folded to one side and I grab one pair off the top, leaning to pick up my other crutch and shuffling back to the bed. I collapse into it. I get the feeling this crutches thing is going to be a hell of a lot of work. I throw the crutches to the floor and work on removing the stick jeans from my legs without hurting my swollen ankle. I sigh, if it takes this much effort to dress every day I may not bother at all. I persist, rolling the jeans down over my thighs, revealing that some of the red wine stains that had attacked my jeans had also seeped into my skin, I sigh attempting to rub at the stain with my hand, but to no avail. I leave it, for now I will just have to have another mark on my body to join all the bruises and cuts. I pull the rest of the jeans off, wincing when they run over my ankle but not too much. I pull Phil's jeans on, getting them to my knees before having to stand up on one leg to pull them the rest of the way.

_**Phil's POV**_

I walk down the hallway having quickly shoved cereal into my mouth and accidentally slopped some of it down my front, but it's worth it, I didn't want to leave Dan waiting. My hands are crammed full of various breakfast foods that I managed to swipe from the kitchen when my parent's backs were turned. In my right hand I have a banana, an orange and an apple and my left hand clutches at two pieces of buttered toast. I push my door open with the back of my left hand and enter the room. Dan is standing there, his jeans half on and his underwear stretching slightly as he bends over. I almost drop the food and I have to hold back a gasp as I shuffle uncomfortably. Damn you, Dan Howell. I cough, shutting the door behind me and he turns round, his cheeks red but not nearly as red as they should be. He seems to be enjoying this.  
"You couldn't help me get the jeans on could you? It's just I'm struggling with my ankle." This time I can't stop my mouth from dropping open. Dan laughs loud and clear, a laugh that sounds like a cross between an evil villain about to hatch his plan and a donkey on a small amount of drugs.  
"Your face!" he says I glare at him, sticking out my tongue and pacing across the room to my desk, where I set down food on a tray that already lies there from a few days ago. I turn away willing the bulge in my pants to go down as my cheeks get redder and redder.

_**Dan's POV**_

I grab my crutches back off of the floor and walk over to the desk where Phil is stood, his back to me, I scan my eyes over the food.  
"Wow, you managed to sneak all this?"  
"Uh-huh" Phil says turning round, seemingly slightly calmer than before. "It sure as hell wasn't easy though. The FBI need to hire me, I am some sort of expert."  
"Definitely. Oh wow apples, I love apples." I internally facepalm, I have no idea why I said that, I hate apples, sometimes I'm just too awkward that I am scared I will burst into flames.  
"Good eat up, we're gonna go out for the day." he says before kissing me on the cheek and I smile, it seems like such a domestic action and it fills me with this kind of easy quality, like I am floating in the ocean staring at the twinkling stars above. I try and snap myself out of it. I hear a cry of  
"Umm would you mind umm not turning round, I am just going to get dressed."  
"I'll try." I say, my voice coming off as flirtatious and slightly cocky. I wonder where this side is coming from. I hear rustling from behind me as I take a few bites of my apple, shuddering as the sickly sweet and yet horrendously sour taste hits my tongue. Why am I doing this? I sneakily set the apple back down on the tray again and pick up the toast, only realising how hungry I am when the crumbs hit the lining of my stomach and the pain in my stomach joins the throbbing of my ankle. I focus on trying not to turn around.

Eventually both me and Phil are ready to go and Phil has snuck more food from the kitchen into a round wicker basket.  
"Wow." I say "When you said picnic, you meant _picnic. _Is that a red tartan picnic blanket I see peeking out the lid."  
"Shut up!" he says "I just really like picnics okay?"  
"Well I just really like you, so you happen to be in luck." I really don't know where this new Dan is coming from, one who flirts and laughs and kisses boys cheeks. Past me probably would have thrown up behind a bin at a comment like that but I like it. I feel like as this new me is growing, the old one is being left behind like a snake shedding it's skin. And that sure is one skin I don't want to look back on.  
"How are we going to get past your parents?" I ask "I'm not exactly capable of sneaking right now." I say as I wave my crutches a little.  
"Through the window." Phil says with that innocent kind of beam that I have come to associate with him.  
"Phil." he turns to look at me. "Do you really want your semi-disabled boyfriend to jump out of a window?"  
"Boyfriend?"  
"Of course." I say and join our lips together. Wow new me is sweet.  
"Yeah there's a little ladder there at the moment because Dad is painting the window ledges and I moved it so it is right outside. All you have to do is climb down it. And I'll take the crutches downstairs and meet you there okay?" my eyes go wide, organised Phil is not a Phil I am used to (have you seen his bedroom) but I go along with it, swinging to the ledge before handing Phil my crutches and sitting down,  
"See you in a minute." I say and he kisses my head before leaving. See now I am climbing out of a window for him, even though I just sprained my ankle by jumping from a window, see this is why they call it love _sick._

The park gates gleam in the winter's air, still coated in a few rain drops from last night's downpour. The path is darkened slightly by the rain and the slide looks slippery and shiny. Little drops of water cling to the blades of grass below.  
"Not quite the day for a picnic, hey." I say nudging Phil.  
"Ah." Phil says pointedly, his coat wrestling to get away from him in the high winds and his hair flowing out behind him like some kind of topshop model, "But that is precisely why we are here. The perfect day for a picnic is a day where the thought hasn't crossed anybody else's minds." He really does remind me of Sherlock sometimes.  
"Phil that makes no sense."  
"You'll see, young warrior, you'll see." and I laugh.

Almost as if on cue, like my laughter was the sign god had been waiting for all day, the heavens open and rain pours down. But not just a little bit of rain, not just a tiny spatter, like the shaking of icing on top of a cake, oh no, the rain comes down like the freaking plague of egypt. And the raindrops feel like frogs as they come down too, attacking my head as I hastily (and standing on one leg I may add) pull my hood over my head. But it is no use, the winds just pull the covering back down again. Phil, having already ran some distance ahead, stops to see where I am.  
"Dan! Come on!" he shouts and I scrabble with my crutches as they seem to skate across the wet ground like it is ice or something. Even through the heavy rain that is blinding my sight I see Phil sigh and begin to run back to me, his fringe soaked and pouring across his face and his hood blowing about in the wind. He has one hand clutched to the left side of his hood, trying to keep it up but it is pointless the rest of the hood just flaps anyway, and he knows it as he gives up halfway and just lets his hair get soaked. I can see some of it sticking to the side of his face, the basket banging against his legs.  
"Pick up your crutches." he commands when he reaches me and I do, standing on one leg "and here take this." he says, holding out the basket. I precariously hook the two crutches under my arm and secure the basket in my hand, looking up at him, puzzled. He scoops me up, bridal style and I let the crutches rest against my chest as I hang onto the basket. He seems to show no sign of struggle as he speeds walks towards a little shelter I can see through the rain. Phil looks down at me and I smile,  
"Am I the prettiest bride?" I say and he laughs, loud enough that I can hear the shadow of a slight wheeze in his voice.  
"I'd marry you." he says and even though I know that he is joking and that it is just a dumb comment it still makes me feel warm inside.

Phil sets out the blanket on the floor. It's a nice spot really, reminds me a little of a cave and if I close my eyes I can imagine that the raindrops tapping on the roof are the crashes of waves.  
"All set!" Phil says excitedly and I open my eyes, he is almost bouncing up and down on the floor. He is like a little puppy today, I should really get him a leash. I shuffle myself onto the floor, sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest, placing no pressure on my foot.

"I can't reach." I say, faking a frown and pathetically stretching my hand towards the final Oreo.  
"Here." Phil says laughing as he picks it up and feeds me it, resting his hand on my shoulder for balance as he leans across.  
"Delicious." I say with a smile.  
"Thank you. I baked them myself." Phil says  
"Wow, you're the creator of oreo's?"  
"I sure am."  
"Can I get a photo?" I say, joking, but I see Phil reach into the basket. When his hand emerges again, a sleek black camera is clutches in his grasp. The lens is huge, like the kind of camera's you see in films. He shuffles towards me, putting his arm around my shoulder and holding the camera above us. Just before the flash goes and the light blinds me, I quickly turn my head and kiss Phil on the cheek, the moment forever captured on film. The happiness bubbles inside of me, less like tiny butterfly wings now and more like a tidal wave of emotion, washing away at the dirt and grime. I feel like I have fallen into a film- although we all know that a scene like this always come right before the big plot twist.

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_**Thank you for reading I like the idea of having long chapters (like 3000 words plus) but what do you think? Are they too long? Too short? Because I have never once before written a story where the chapters are so long and it's a lot of work but I like it so idk. Also I haven't thoroughly checked this bc no energy so don't sue me please. I don't really think this author's note is making any sense but I'm tired ok (idk why i have done nothing today) anyway I am just rambling now.. please review and have a nice day!**_


	7. As The World Falls Down

_**Yes so this story is going to be intense and sad for the next few chapters so just a warning. Also trigger warnings for self harm and violence. And also I seem to be updating a lot recently so enjoy it or whatever. Thank you to witbeyondmeasurexox, kittykat0989 and faangiirl for reviewing the last chapter :) Here we go;**_

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_**Dan's POV**_

I sit in the corner of my room, the circles of my spine pressed against the heavy oak of the wardrobe and my knees drawn up against my quivering stomach. The shadow people are coming. They draw closer and closer, their cloaks fluttering and spreading, until no light is left in the world- all it is is dark, dark cloak. I feel their hands begin to grab at my throat, not yet squeezing, just teasing me with little nips. They stroke my face with their fingers, long and bony and cold, oh so cold. They have me cornered, there is no point trying to breathe with them pressed so close to me, their bodies on top of mine, their hands at my throat. I run short on breath, feeling my lungs collapse slightly and my trachea pipe close up. As I feel I am coming to the end I am able to form one coherent thought; Phil.

But then he bursts in, his face raging. The light pours in from the landing and the shadows flit away, only the lingering greyness to show that they were ever here at all. I know they'll be back though. They always are. I still quake with fear but now it is a different kind of fear I feel as I look upon his face, red and creased with the lines of his brow sticking out like angry mountain ranges. His mouth is a hard line although I can tell that inside his teeth are gritted, he is ready for a fight like a bull ready to charge, although in my case it is more like puncher and punch bag than equal competitors. His eyes make me feel as if the whole world has set alight, rage burning at every street corner and every sky ablaze with the crackling of fury. He takes a step towards me and I shuffle back, feeling the wardrobe stab further into my backbone, pressing on a particularly painful bruise. Past pain meets present pain and will probably be overlapped by future pain. That's what pain is now; my past, present and future. I whimper. I remind myself of the dog we had. The one who shared the role of punch bag with me. The one who I saw launched out the window and into the street, the one whose spine I heard crack, the one who I saw die with a final whimper on his lips. That's what I see when I see his face, I see me, spine cracked and body twisted, dying on the street as my blood burns into the gutter; finally where I belong.

He smiles at the sound of my fear, but instead of lighting up his face it only darkens it more, the shadows growing wider somehow, their fingers stretching further. When he moves it is not in the steps of a human but rather a bulldog or a lion, heavy steps that demand to be heard. Steps that make the earth shake slightly as if each step matters a great deal and needs to be slammed down with enough power to stop wars and create destruction. If there were lights in here I am sure that this is the moment that they would flicker out- showing the annihilation of hope. And then he is here, looming over me with the small chuckle that I sometimes hear late at night. He lashes out.

I feel pain and nothing else. Every other thought is turned off as my brain focuses on my strongest emotion; the searing pain that is surging through my nervous system, past the motor neurone and over the synapse to my brain. But it is useless. My brain can't help me now, it lies here just as defenceless as the rest of me. I feel hands beating me, the sweet agony against my face as my eyes begin to sting, slammed shut behind their eyelids. He seems to become bored of my face, too plain maybe, too bony for his poor hand, because he raises me up, pressing me against the wall as he runs his hands over my stomach gently feeling me squirm and gag before pulling his hand back like a slingshot set in place and then letting it free. I feel it connect with my stomach and I gag some more, feeling something climb my throat like a mountaineer, getting slightly higher with each hit. Then I am coughing up blood and it is dribbling down my chin and slopping onto the floor, each splatter making a tiny noise, just barely audible over the hits. I don't want to open my eyes, I can picture his smirk well enough on my own.

I feel myself drop to the floor as a small part of me screams 'it's over, you're free' but a bigger part just laughs, a bigger part knows the truth. It is far from over. Although I may be lying on the dusty ground, completely submissive to the higher power, it is not yet over as I feel his shoe connect with my ribs. He seems to be wearing his working boots today, the hard material pushing deeper into my soft skin than the normal leather shoes would. Oh look I think I found my talent; I can tell the material of a shoe just by someone kicking me in the stomach. Very good. See you're not worthless. I laugh croakily, more blood erupting. I must look like a volcano. I'm certainly glad it's not lava. This only seems to anger John as he kicks harder and harder and beneath me I feel my body collapse a little and I hear my ribs crack, each noise making me shudder and salty tears begin to join the splatters of blood on the floor as my mothers poisoned cries echo from below. And that is the last thing I see before the world goes black; the steady dripping of my blood and tears.

_**Phil's POV**_

It's been a few days since the picnic and the glow that was lit inside me is beginning to ebb away. Dan texted me a few times that evening but yesterday he declined my Skype call and today he has avoided calls all day. My chest feels tight and my mind begins to wonder whether this is more trouble than it's worth- I shove that thought away immediately. I still lie here, my back cushioned by the duvet as I stare at the ceiling, tossing a tennis ball up and down. Time passes both slowly and quickly until the last dregs of sunlight have disappeared and the moon is up. But I cannot sleep and so I continue to lie, both guarded and attacked by my thoughts. At some point I slip into sleep, tears drifting down my face.

_**Dan's POV**_

I wake up, my bones creaking and skin stinging. I immediately feel fear. My head hurts like a thousand tiny pins have been pushed through my skull and into my brain. I am on the floor. I try and see but one of my eyes is completely swollen shut, the light trying to fight it's way through to my cornea but to no avail. I struggle to open my other eye, it seems to be glued together but eventually I prise it open and the light stabs my eyes. It should be painful but amongst everything else I barely even feel it. I try and stand up but every part of me hurts. You can do it, I try and tell myself, you can be strong, but it just makes me laugh, I've never been strong in my life. I wriggle across the floor like a worm, stretching out my left hand and knocking the small alarm clock onto the floor. It reads 10 am. I should be in school.

Once the pain has subsided just a little and I can it, I struggle to my feet, letting myself fall back onto my bed instead. Then the torrent of thoughts come and they are painful and accusatory. I begin to wonder why I wasn't out last night, I could have avoided this. But the worse one, the one that always somehow penetrates my mind is 'you deserve it'. And it's true, I do. I am worthless and ugly and a drain on my parents lives. I add nothing to this world and I deserve to be punished. I feel the shadows crawling back, lingering round the back of the curtains and under my bed. I can see their beady eyes through the light, and the slight edge of their cloaks. They guide my hand to the drawer by my bed and I reach out a shaking hand, pulling the handle and letting it slide open. Inside lies a razor and with tears stinging my eyes I hold it in my grasp. I can feel the old skin clutched in the skeletal fingers of a shadow man, the skin I so desperately tried to shed, the one I never wanted to look back on and yet here it is, lingering in front of me like the ghost of my past. I don't even try and escape as he drapes it over me, the old skin slithering over my arms and legs and securing itself back in place. The skin that Phil melted away is back from the dead and is sitting comfortably atop of my body again. I feel sick. I clutch the razor and slash at my wrists.

_**Phil's POV**_

I shake as I get off the bus and as I walk into school. The chatter of students surrounds me and instead of being comfortable, like a blanket, just knowing that no one will be able to see you amongst everyone else, today it is smothering me, every voice seeming too loud and too close. I sit through my lessons but I might as well be deaf for all I hear. The day drags on and on until I begin to worry that I will be stuck here forever. I hate my mind. I hate my mind for running vividly through every possible situation that Dan could be in. It pains me, it physically pains me to see his burning blood on the floor or his face wince in pain. I am in far too deep, far too deep for a boy I have only known a few months. I feel as if I am deep in the ocean, thrashing and drowning with no escape, every pain of his that I see in my mind I feel myself, just a tiny fraction of the reality but still aching. I can't take it any more. I stand up and leave, fast pacing towards the door and then out towards the gate. I can distantly feel eyes upon me, watching me with mouths open. I can distantly hear the cries of teachers and students alike. But only distantly, most of that is blurred by the twisting of my guts and the urge to get to Dan.

But I don't know where he is. I don't know where he lives, he wouldn't let me walk him all the way. Tears fall freely from my eyes as I walk the streets, not caring about the people that stare, a range of judgements flickering in their eyes. I don't know where my feet are taking me, I don't know where I am going as they hit the pavement. The rain begins to fall, it begins to thunder in fact, lighting slashing the sky like a razor to his wrist and thunder hitting my ears like hands hit his skin. I begin to scream and cry louder, tears joining the rain, screams joining the thunder until I am part of the thunder storm, part of natures furious fit. The street has deserted, no one wants to be around nature when it is angry, no one but me. I find myself willing lightning to hit me, my emotional state has broken all borders of intelligence. I don't know what I have let him do to me.

Without realising, my steps have taken me to the little shelter in the park, the place where I last saw Dan. The storm moves further away and I calm down a little, letting the memory of that day wrap it's arms around me and rock me until the tears fall no more.

_**Dan's POV**_

The blood still drips from my arm under my shirt as I jump from the window. Windows seem to be becoming my thing, I think as I leap into the night, ready to drown more of my sorrows in a bottle of alcohol, ready to forget all about the boy with the ebony hair; I don't want to hurt him any more, it's for the best.

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_**Thank you for reading and I am sorry for making that so upsetting but it's necessary for the story so yeah. See you soon :)**_


	8. Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

_**Okay, it's been a little while but here you go. In case you haven't noticed btw the title to each of these chapters is a title of a song that links with that chapter somehow, so yes little factoid of the week. Also don't expect this to get really good because it's really not going to plus I have really no idea what I am doing. This chapter is a little triggering but not really. If you feel like you might be triggered you can just skip the first few paragraphs that are in Dan's POV after that you should be fine and you should still be able to understand it (I hope). Thanks to wonderfulfun and kittykat0989 for reviewing the last chapter. Here we go;**_

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_**Dan's POV**_

I try to make shapes out of the swirls in the ceiling. If I stare long enough I can convince myself that one broken piece of plaster is a dog, another a flower or maybe a spanner. I don't know why I keep returning here like some kind of homing pigeon. I guess I am too scared to leave, too scared of the shadows. Of course they can find me here too, but here I can drown them in stolen rum or a flickering cigarette. Out on the street I wouldn't have a shield to hide behind. Pathetic I know. That such leeches of things have become a safety blanket, that the things which are ruining my life are the things that are protecting me. I can't even think about leaving without imagining the dark street, raindrops hitting the pavement and splashing back up again stuck in an eternal battle. Without imagining the dreaded cold that would gnaw at my bones, chewing away until no flesh remained. But worst of all I just imagine the shadows, their bodies looming ahead and their fingers reaching out towards me, a final look of fear etched onto my face. I shake myself as the tears begin to fall; time for another shot I think.

A drone pierces the bubble of darkness, making it pop and splatter everywhere. The floor is wet and I can't tell from what, whether it's the endless stream of tears, or the spilling of alcohol or the steady drips of blood. Maybe it's a cocktail of all three. The noise sounds again. The world spins and I try and sit up, failing and flailing backwards. There the noise is again. I cry harder now. I wish it would go away, I wish it would stop haunting me because I know what it is and I know who is on the other end of that phone. Because it's the same face that constantly perches in the forefront of my mind. It's the same blue eyes, the same dark hair, the same expression lingering half way between fear and sadness. And I can't see that face without hurting. I can't see that face without knowing that it's me who pulled the light from his eyes, it's me who's causing the hurt. I can't hurt him any more. I can't see him any more and that; that hurts more than anything.

Because those blue eyes, those bright blue oceans, I don't deserve to swim in their waters and he sure as hell doesn't deserve the chains that I pull with me, the ones that pull me into the depths of hell. I don't deserve to hear the tinkle of laughter, don't deserve to run my hands through his soft hair, don't deserve to stare into those eyes and let them lull me into safety. Because he is a star and he deserves another star to brighten his galaxy, not a lowly meteor rock. I am worthless and he deserves so much more. But god does it hurt.

_**Phil's POV**_

The phone drones again, the never ending cycle of ringing before the inevitable answering machine. Before the inescapable perky voice that asks me to leave a message, that talks as if there is no such thing as pain in the world, as if there's no such thing as heartache or darkness. She makes me want to throw my phone against the wall, as if denting it will hurt her, will show her the pain she clearly knows nothing off. But I don't, instead I just call again listening to the drone that is slowly becoming the soundtrack of my life.

Enough is enough. I can't sit in this bedroom any more. I can't sit surrounded by darkness and droning and despair. I can't continue to look at the blank floor any longer I have to get up and out.

As the blades of water hit me, the droning begins to leave my ears and the sadness seems to mix with the steam, floating up and away from me. I feel lighter, my chest still hurts and the little voice still speaks in my head but his words have gone from a resounding shout to a small whisper. I feel better. I dress, trying hard to forget the times that Dan has been here. To ignore the phantom image of Dan asleep on the bed or the ghost of him beside the chest of drawers as he changed. I turn the light on in an attempt to scare the ghosts away but they linger on. I try and smile, to consider them friends, to remember the good parts and not the potential mess that said boy could have become.

I get dressed, the warm arms of the jumper feel like Dan's arms around me and if I stand very, very still I can feel his heartbeat through the wool. I have given up on trying to convince myself that I am anything but in love with that boy. I glance out the window, but the trees aren't swaying like before, the leaves aren't rustling and I see nothing blowing across the street. The wind seems to be dropping, the chill on it's way.

I step outside, the cold air greeting me. But instead of it being malicious or unpleasant it makes me feel cleaner, like other things exist in the world besides pain and Dan. I walk along, feeling grateful that the street is empty as I pull my red scarf closer to my neck. My feet move on impulse, slamming against the concrete and carrying me down the pavement. My scarf moves slightly as a little breeze kicks in once more. The orange and brown tones that highlighted that it was autumn have melted away, leaving a brown leaf-like sludge on the pavements and bare branches on the trees above. The sky is a pale blue, so pale that it is almost white, the branches looking like bold brush strokes against canvas.

I know where I am heading by now and sure enough, there hangs the sign, swinging in the soft wind, declaring for all to read; 'the art cafe'. I push the door open and the small tinkle of a bell sounds, alerting the cafe that I have arrived and allowing all of three heads to turn in my direction before lazily looking back down at their various books and magazines. Sometimes I wonder how the hell this place manages to stay open but I am so grateful it does. I realise now that the warm lights and bright posters are what I have needed, what I've been secretly craving as I stared at my dull brown floor. This time when I see Dan's ghosts; hovering nervously and windswept at the door, curled up in one of the armchairs, the flicker of his smile when muse came on, grabbing my arm just outside of that door and asking for my number, I don't feel sadness in my chest, I feel love and warmth. Finally I allow a smile to crawl onto my lips.  
"Phil!" Annie says, looking up from her cosmopolitan and throwing me a small smile.  
"Hey" I say, removing the gloves that cling to my fingers.  
"It's been a while."  
"I know but coursework was catching up and friends were calling and somehow I never quite made it." Annie nods in understanding, taking the bait. "But don't worry I brought the work with me this time." I say, motioning to my backpack, "So you'll be seeing a lot more of me." She smiles,  
"The usual?"  
"Yes please." I say, feeling now that the despair and distress has been replaced entirely by the warm and uncompetitive atmosphere of the cafe.

As she makes the drink, we chat and I like it. I had forgotten what it was like to talk to someone with more than just a few grunts or sighs whilst pushing food round the plate.  
"So." she says "Have you heard muse's new album?". I gush excitedly, even though it has been out for quite a few weeks now we haven't yet had a chance to talk about it. Not with the rush of Dan and then the sudden exit of him in the same manner. It feels great to talk to someone who you know is just as much of a fan as you are. We talk for a while and I take a seat of the bar stool, so that I can drink and talk at the same time.  
"But the chord progression in that last one though."  
"Oh I know. And the guitar in it too, that was so amazing." Before I know it, my drink has gone and we have run through every single song on the album.  
"I better get to work now." I laugh, and Annie's eyes seem to widen with shock as she shoots me an apologetic smile.  
"Oh shit sorry, I forgot."  
"No it's okay." I say, picking my bag up off of the floor and heading over to my usual armchair. "Can I order another hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream though please?" she smiles,  
"Of course." I settle into the chair and open my laptop, opening word and beginning the long road to finishing this essay.

_**Dan's POV**_

As I sober up, I see the shadows more clearly. Hear them more clearly too, their voices calling out my name, asking me to join them, begging me to be a part of their realm. I stand up. I don't want to be here any more. I don't want to be at a party. I don't want to be mindlessly pacing the streets. I just want to be in Phil's arms. Except I can't, I have to save that expression of fear and sadness from ever reaching his face ever again. But I know where I can go, a place which reminds me so heavily of Phil, a place that is so bright that it almost forces you to be happy. I set my mind on it; I am going to try and find the cafe that Phil took me to.

I pull my coat from where it is lying on my bed, screwed up into a tiny ball out of anger. I go to head towards the door but I hear the sound of the front door opening, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps and shouting. I turn on the ball of my heel, and my eyes fall upon the window. Hey lets try something new, lets go out of the window, because you've never done that before, I tell myself and I'm sure if I weren't feeling so sombre I probably would have made myself laugh; I'm that sort of guy.

My feet hit the grass, the familiar feeling of thudding tingling through my body, a small aching sensation throbbing through my feet and reminding me of Phil, of the first day I ever found myself at his house. I wonder what my life would be like if I had never wounded up, hungover, on his couch. Shut up Dan, I tell myself, this isn't _it's a wonderful life_. The air is cold but the wind isn't strong and so I button up my coat, no need for my arms to wrap around my body when there's no wind to force my coat open. I still feel dour, but the world outside doesn't match my world inside. The sky is bright and the birds are tweeting despite the freezing temperatures. I even see a squirrel on my way to the cafe, it's little mouth twitching as it perches on top of a stone wall. If I didn't know any better I'd think that I have fallen into the everlasting world of snow white.

I pass the park, walking past the park bench that brings both a world of smiles and a world of pain. Maybe that's what love is. I come to the iron gate at the end of the park, the metal bars swirling into a pattern of flowers and leaves. My brow furrows and my eyebrows knit closer together, but where did we go from here? I don't remember. That day is all a bit of a blur of howling winds and ocean eyes. Maybe if I had spent less time staring at those eyes and his silky soft hair I wouldn't be in such a predicament now. I curse past me for allowing himself to be so distracted. I wander down the street, searching desperately for the battered sign swinging in the breeze. But alas I can't see it, all there are are dreary old buildings with peeling paint and sagging roofs. I kick a can into the gutter. Why can't I find it? Is it like 12 grimmauld place, protected by a fidelius charm to stop me from finding it? Or is it simply like the leaky cauldron and I'm just not looking hard enough? I try and peel my eyes as I walk down another street, but no such luck all I get is a questionable looking bakery and an old toy shop with a smashed window. And to make matters worse the heavens open and rain splatters down. I feel so sorry for myself that I don't even bother to pull my hood up. The raindrops hit my head first, soaking my hair and I can almost feel the perfectly straightened pieces springing and moving back into their curled position, like little worms on top of my head. The water then drips onto my face, using my nose as a water slide. I feel water begin to seep into my shoes, squirming it's way into my socks and weaving in between my toes. Now my feet squelch as the walk but I guess that's what you get for having a hole in your shoe.

When I finally see the cafe I swear my heart skips a little, the bright lights shining out like a mother ship calling me home. And I certainly look like an alien with my soaked clothes and curly hair. I speed walk towards the door, feeling my feet squelch at a sickening rate. I reach my hand out to place it upon the handle, when I pause. Shit, he's here, I think. And sure enough there he is, amongst all the grey hairs and newspapers there he sits, his face screwed up in concentration as he leans over his laptop, the screen lighting up his face to reveal dark smudges under his eyes. He's wearing glasses, black rimmed, they only help to highlight the ocean eyes like little beaches. I feel my heart drop a little. Why does he have to look so damn beautiful? Without taking his eyes from the screen, he stretches out his left hand, clutching the cup and sipping the liquid, the steam hitting his glasses and fogging them up. He sighs and smiles, taking them off and rubbing them against his jumper. Wait a second. My eyes take in the clothes he is wearing, the deep blue of the knitted jumper that covers his torso. I recognise that jumper. That's the jumper I borrowed from him when we went on the picnic. I wonder whether it was a concious decision, whether he needed to feel closer to me, I wonder whether that jumper has been washed since I last wore it, whether it still smells like me. Then I begin to wonder, are the dark circles under his eyes to do with me? Has he been upset about me, worrying over me? My hand hovers over the door and I almost push it open, allowing him to see me. I almost let myself run in and into his arms, let myself kiss his fragile lips and bury myself into that jumper. But I don't. The jumper is just a coincidence, I tell myself, and who would be that hung up on you? You're not worth all that. So instead I turn around, making the slow and painful trudge home, the rain falling harder than ever.

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**_There you go, If you liked it please review as it helps me with motivation to write the next chapter. Also if you have any ideas or suggestions or improvements don't hesitate to say. I'm sorry there is really not much plot there's going to be a little more later but I just hope you're happy. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a lovely day :) _**


	9. There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out

**_Wow 2 chapters in 3 days?! Yeah. Because apparently I have no life. Also you probably can't tell but a hell of a lot of effort went into this, like it physically drained me over the process of 2 days so be nice. Also I've already been off school a month but today my best friend (and only person I ever spend time with) went to cambodia for a month volunteering so I'll probably have a hell of a lot more time from now on as I won't be basically living at her house. Anyway I need to stop rambling. Thank you to kittykat0989, SciFiobsession and AccioPhandom for reviewing the last chapter. Hope you enjoy;  
(Also there's no real triggers in here but a very slight mention of self harm and alcohol and violence so be careful)_**

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**_Dan's POV_**

The screams drift through the floorboards. I shiver. It's always the same screams, always the same sounds and always the same me. The same me that doesn't move to help, the same me that stays stuck to the wall, stuck to the floor like they are part of my very own skin. I see the window in the corner of my left eye. I see the door in the corner of my right eye. Two options. The escape route or the hero's route. And I know which one I'll choose. I know which one I always choose. I edge towards the window, the muffled screams still filling my ears. I know what I will find when I return as well, John stormed out in rage, gone to let more alcohol into the not-so-exclusive park of his bloodstream. My mother in the kitchen, or maybe flicking channels perched on the edge of our battered sofa, faking a smile, her bruises and cuts not so well concealed by a bit of foundation or concealer. I used to ask her about it. I used to say I was sorry for not helping, that she should leave him and run away. But nowadays most of the time I don't even bother to walk into the room. Because I know that she will deny it, say that she slipped and banged her wrist, outright dismiss any screams pretend that John isn't anything but a perfect gentleman. But of course I know better. The whole damn neighbourhood knows better. All it takes is one small glance at my mother for me to lose all faith in this thing she calls 'love'. She allows herself to be beaten and bruised in more ways than one, she allows any power she could hold to drizzle straight down the drain, all under this thing she calls 'love'. And if that's what love is, maybe it's a good idea to stay away from Phil. And with that I jump from the window into the fast-approaching night, hitting the ground with a thud and leaving the screams behind.

_**Phil's POV**_

I give up on calling and start spending a worrying amount of time at the cafe. Every morning I pack my stuff into my black backpack, make the short walk in the dropping temperatures and sit in the chair. There's something about the atmosphere that makes you believe that everything's going to be okay. Something about the warm lighting and comfy chairs that makes you feel like there's hope in the world. And right now, I really need that. It's been three weeks since I last saw Dan and the time I spent with him is beginning to feel more and more like a dream, like something I made up to try and fill the cave-like hole in my chest. Because with him gone other memories are starting to come back. Memories pertaining to a specific individual. His name was Carter. And he had been my best friend. I can still see him in my head, his face forever frozen at fifteen; his eyes so wonderfully green with speckles of brown splashed throughout like an artist had created them with deep thought. His hair was the kind of colour that couldn't decide what it was doing with itself, constantly flicking between a sort of sandy yellow and a muddy brow. I can still see his face, strong and chiselled with his cheekbones protruding in the most obvious kind of way, the opposite to Dan's sort of laid back attractiveness. His jawline had been perfectly straight, and sharp too. Sometimes, when he had been sleeping or staring off into the distance it had seemed as if you could cut something using that jawline. His eyebrows were constantly arched, giving a sense of surprise like he was constantly listening and deeply interested in what you had to say. His body was tall and skinny, as if god had grabbed him in the middle of the night stretched him a little and then disappeared again, cursing him with the gift of always looming over somebody. I always remember his lips as upturned, constantly performing a small smile at the edges of his mouth like he could always find something to be happy about. But I guess people can be wrong. Carter killed himself two years last October. And I never got to tell him how I felt.

That's why I held the party, the one into which Dan so privily appeared. It was two years since he had died. My parents didn't notice the twinned dates, but the vodka sure did. The vodka let me drown myself in it, wrapped it's arms around me and held me when no one else would. The tears are spiking my eyes, threatening to escape into the world but I hold them back. A place like this is no place for tears.

I don't let myself think of it often but when I do it doesn't end well, it ends in fear and tears. Because the truth is some of the things I see Dan doing, some of little things that I have seen over the last two months, I have seen before. I saw them in my best friend. The avoidance of calls, the refusal to accept compliments, the little self digs, the constant tugging of sleeves, the smudges under the eyes. I know what they lead to. I know what can happen. And as selfish as this sounds I honestly don't believe I can go through that again. He didn't even leave a note. This time I need to do something. I feel suddenly empowered which is something I don't usually feel. Usually if I let my mind enter the forbidden forest of this topic, I end up paralysed, unable to wipe the tears of my face. That's why my room is so chaotic, that's why it's so bright and so messy because sometimes if I fall too deep into an unknown world, just being able to see everything I love so clearly on display can pull me out of the well and can reinstate my belief in life.

The empowerment surges through me and I stand up, clattering my plate a little and causing a few eyes to dart my way. I don't even have time to apologise, in fact I barely have to wish goodbye to Annie before I walk out the door, my strides a little longer and a little faster than usual. I dart round corners and pace through streets. Slight remnants of snow cover the roads and more than once I almost slip. I have no time to appreciate snow right now. I am a man on a mission. I see it as I round the corner; the cinema. I make it to the wall, staring at it intently remembering the time I met Dan here, back before we knew anything about each other, back when the world was a simpler place. I earn looks from strangers but I don't care. I am trying to create a map in my head; a map of that night that I walked Dan home. I figure if I can at least make it to the street corner where I dropped Dan off, maybe I can find his home and then maybe I can work out what's been going on. It's a long shot but at least I'm trying.

As soon as I start walking, doubts flood my mind like old friends arriving at a party, each with a new outlook on the situation. But what if he deliberately got you to drop him off at the wrong corner? What if he never even liked you? There's a reason he's been avoiding you. I feel the hope dripping away but I stop myself. I am doing the right thing. I attempt to hush the little voices in my head, putting a stopper on the dripping tap of hope. Down streets and streets I wander, looking for any kind of key, something that I recognise, something from that night. If only I had stopped at the time, looked up at the buildings and admired the surroundings instead of being consumed by both the urge to hold his hand and the lightness of kissing him. The light is dimming but the darkness doesn't faze me. It always seems like such an irrational fear to me; to be afraid of something as simple as the lack of light. It seems like a fear that stems from over exposure to dark films and cliché TV shows. For what can come at night that can not come in the light? It seems to me that the fear is not in the darkness itself but rather the thing that uses the darkness as a mask and only a predictable killer strikes at night. I feel no more fear than I did five minutes ago when the sun was still awake.

And then I see it, the park, the rattling swings and peeling roundabouts taking me back to that night as if I was watching a tape of the event. I see it, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, the slight tilt of his head as he talked to me, his eyes darting between the ground and snaring onto mine as if too afraid to look at any one thing for two long. The wind isn't blowing like it was that night and so the sounds coming from the park are less eerie. Where before there was squeaking and cheeping as the swings were swung by nature and the roundabout turned all it's own, tonight there is only the distant fluttering off birds and the slight chirping of outlying insects. The snow continues to fall as I pace down the street which I am almost positive belongs to Dan.

_**Dan's POV**_

I feel the chill as I walk about. My feet slip and slide on the ever growing layers of powdered snow and I deeply regret not bringing a coat. I shiver and shake as the cold attacks me. Soon enough it gets to be ridiculous and I trudge home, figuring John has probably made his way down to the pub by now. You can see my house from a mile away. Coated from head to toe in Christmas decorations, it shines out like a beacon of happiness and goodwill. It's almost comical. From the giant blow up Santa that has made the roof it's home, to the light up reindeer's lining our crumbling stone wall it's a holiday enthusiast's dream. At least on the outside. You see a house like this and you can imagine the owner of it. A jolly sort of fellow who hands extra sweets out on Halloween and wraps his presents with big golden bows. That'd be pretty hard for John considering we don't even get presents. If I can learn anything from this house it's that perception can pretty skewed.

The door is open just a crack, and I put my hand up against it, pushing it the rest of the way. I hear the usual blare of the TV although I can tell from the noises alone that John isn't home. He would never let mum watch anything like that. I trudge towards the stares, all energy sapped from my 'walk', not even enough spark left to feel sorry for myself. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, my hair is dripping, coated in little white specks which are slowly melting into the water of life and yet below you can still see the beginnings of curls. I sigh, running a hand through my hair, combing it off of my face which is also rather damp. I turn and hobble up the stairs towards the room where the shadows like to visit.

**_Phil's POV_**

The snow flutters down gently, dusting the whole street like icing sugar on top of a cake. The street lights shine bright, highlighting the pure whiteness of the snow and small candles flicker at every window. Most houses are coated with Christmas lights in red and blue and green, making the street look like a giant present complete with a bow of the moon. It's hard to see the stars with all the other lights shining but if you squint hard enough you can still see them, twinkling against the deep black of the night sky, coexisting peacefully with the bright moon overhead. Despite it all, despite the heart pounding in my chest and the shiver of steadily dripping freezing snow down my back I can't help but smile. Everything is so beautiful. I think that's part of why I love Christmas so much. It doesn't matter how much of a disappointment the actual day turns out to be, it doesn't matter about the size of the presents or the expanse of the food, it's the beauty behind it all. It's the one time of year where everyone comes together to create something truly beautiful. Never mind Santa Claus, that's where the true magic lies.

I trudge down the street and make it to the first door on my left. Just like every other house on this road, there is a little stone wall completed with a small iron gate. Fairy lights weave between the metal rods, making it glow like it contains real fairy dust. I walk up the path, past the small front garden littered with glow up reindeer and tiny gnomes wearing Santa hats. The door is a deep cherry red and on it hangs a Christmas wreath. I knock three times. As I wait for the door to open I shuffle from one foot to the other, trying to pull my coat closer round me. It isn't even that it is that cold, it's just with all the running and dashing and thinking I haven't yet had the time to be nervous about what I am doing; which is essentially knocking on every door until I find Dan. The door swings open and warm light pours out, meeting the cold air like fire and water. A woman stands in the door way, her brown hair reaches down below her shoulders and it is dark with a hint of grease. Her face looks tired but openly friendly, a small smile flickering on her lips. In her arms she holds a baby, it's legs wound around her waist and it's face subdued but curious, hiding itself behind the waterfall of hair as it sucks it's thumb. The big blue eyes stare at me and I smile back.  
"Yes?" the woman says, her voice happy with the edge of a sigh.  
"I'm looking for a Dan Howell?" I say "He lives around here somewhere, do you know him?" Her face falls a little, sinking into the expression of thought.  
"Hmm. What does he look like?"  
"He's err sixteen years old, brown hair with a fringe that flops across his face and deep brown eyes. He's err about the same height as me." I say, trying not to get carried away. I doubt this woman needs to hear about Dan's bone structure.  
"No I don't think I have seen him." she says, adding "Sorry." as an afterthought.  
"That's okay, thanks for your time." I say with a smile.

And that's what I do all night, knock on people's doors, ask for Dan. I feel like I have gone back to the very first Christmas, desperately trying to find room at an Inn. As the night drags on, the snow falls heavier and the cold buries its way deeper into my bones. I begin to shiver noticeably, to the point where one old woman invites me in for some cocoa. It turns out the road is longer than I thought. I almost say no, the vision of Dan all alone at the forefront of my mind. But the night has completely fallen now and one by one the lights at people's windows start to go out, the candles just wisps of smoke, the decorations just dull and plain.  
"Thank you." I say "I guess it couldn't hurt." The woman opens the door wider allowing my eyes to take in the room. The wallpaper is floral, a yellow background coated with what you can tell used to be tiny pink flowers before time took it's toll on the room. The furniture is equally aged, yellow canvas sofas with noticeable tears and rips. In the corner is a TV, displaying some kind of soap, the sound so low that it sounds like tiny whispers floating through the room. I guess that the programme is more for comfort that actual interest in the show. I plonk myself down on a sofa, trying with mass amounts of effort not to sink completely into it and let the material soothe my aching back and feet. I didn't realise how tired I was until now. Opposite to where I now sit and to the left of the small, crackling television is a fireplace. The fire roaring, the flames a hypnotic mix of red, orange and yellow. I try not to let it lull me into slumber. Lining the mantelpiece, are endless pictures and I let my eyes roam over them, flicking between pictures of beach holidays, small babies in arms, days out in parks, family pictures in dark rooms with black backdrops but more than anything; school photos. Lots and lots of school photos from children in a multitude of different coloured uniforms, each of their smiles as forced and faked as last. I guess that these are her grandchildren.

The woman hobbles through the door, a small yellow tray in her hands, on top of which are two mugs, steam rising from them. She sits down next to me, placing the tray on the small table just in front, her weight sagging the sofa just slightly. I reach forward letting my hands wrap around the mug and seek comfort in it's warmth.  
"So" she says, leaving, I notice, her mug on the tray to cool. "You're looking for this boy." I nod. "May I ask why?"  
"Umm well he isn't err very happy and I'm err sort of scared of what he might do if I don't find him." I rush out, feeling my cheeks blush a little, and not just from the warmth either. The ladies face falls a little.  
"Can you describe him for me?"  
"He's sixteen, brown hair and eyes, a similar height to me which I guess is nearly six foot." I say, repeating what I have been saying all night.  
"And what about his personality?" she says and I frown a little, unsure of why she wants to know.  
"Umm." I say, a little shy. "He's very thoughtful, sometimes I look into his eyes and know that he's not entirely here, that he's lost off in another world of thought. It's as if there's a whole universe inside his head, a galaxy of stars and moons and planets and sometimes I want nothing more than to crack open his head and let myself float through that space, bathe in those stars. But he always returns and when he does, you know his whole attention is on you. You can tell he is listening and you can tell that he cares too. He's funny and smart and constantly puts other lives in front of his own, although I am sure that comes from a deep rooted distaste towards himself..." I look up, blushing, I have said far too much. I never knew that I thought about him on such a deep level.  
"And you love him." the woman finished. My eyes widen and I look down again, the blush deepening until I am sure that I am positively scarlet. "You don't have to hide it. I've lived far too long not to notice young love when it comes parading into my abode."  
"Well I guess I do yes." I admit.  
"There's no need to be ashamed. Love comes in all kinds of packages, anyone who can't see that is blind." she says so clearly and profoundly as if there is no doubt in her mind about it. I find myself honestly astounded. I guess I had painted a picture inside of my head of the older generation as unaccepting and homophobic, but here I am sat talking to an old woman who honestly has far more understanding than most of my classmates.  
"Thank you." I say, beaming "Most people don't seem to see that."  
"You're welcome. So you're worried then. About this boy?"  
"Enough to knock on every door in the neighbourhood." I say mildly.  
"And what did you say his name was again?"  
"Dan."  
"Daniel Howell?" My face lights up.  
"Yes!"  
"Oh I think I know him. Lovely boy, brown hair? Helped me to carry my shopping the other day."  
"That's the one." I say, my smile now growing so wide that my face can no longer contain it.  
"He lives a few doors down. Number 82. The one with the giant Santa on the roof." I laugh, all tiredness and cold blown away to be replaced with happiness. I did it. I actually found him. I rush to stand up.  
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, you don't know what this means to me."  
"Oh believe me I do, I was young once too you know." I rush towards the door, stretching my hand out towards the handle, before I notice the cocoa still steaming from where I had placed it on the coffee table. I look at it guiltily. The woman sees me staring.  
"Oh don't you worry about that, you go out and find that boy, it's just more for me anyhow." I smile again, shouting a final thank you over my shoulder before shutting the door and stepping into the night.

I look up at the house with a sigh. It is possibly the only house in the whole street where the lights still shine brightly despite the late hour. Somehow this doesn't give me hope. My palms begin to sweat despite the cold weather and my bare hands begin to wring themselves, my fingers weaving nervously amongst each other. My heart beats hard. It's now or never. I take a step forward, swinging the gate open and faltering up the small path. I don't know whether it's the cold or the nerves but I can't feel my feet. It's probably both. I clumsily lurch towards the door, tripping over the small stone step and almost falling into the peeling blue paint. I knock twice, my hands shaking. Time drags on. No one answers. In the silence of the street I can hear the small tinkle of a TV and a whimper of- is that crying? I knock again, waiting a painful eternity. Nobody answers. My gloveless hand reaches out towards the gold handle and the sheer piercing chill of it almost makes me jump. I swing the handle down and to my both relief and fear it gives, pushing the door open and allowing me inside.

Past the thick realm of the door, the noise is much louder. The TV protrudes the high voice of a female and I slowly edge the door open. The room is a state, magazines littering the couch and the coffee table and spilling onto the floor like the room was a snow globe and someone shook it vigorously. The second thing I notice is the amount of cups. Mugs line the table and mantelpiece, their insides brown and stained with years and years of tea. Then my eyes drift to the floor, scraping over the broken glass that lies scattered, like hopes and dreams smashed onto the floor. I deduce from what I can see that it was probably a vase, from the water and dead plant that also lie battered on the cold, hard ground. At first nothing sinister enters my mind, I assume the vase was knocked off the mantelpiece or dropped onto the floor. But then I notice the woman. She is fast asleep on the stained and ripped armchair, her head tilted back in what looks like an uncomfortable position for her neck. One foot is slung over the arm of the chair and the other knocks against the base of it, right next to a rip which reveals the cotton-like stuffing from inside. But that is not what catches my attention. It's the cuts that line her face, cuts that match rather suspiciously the jagged edges of the glass. And they are not alone, they are joined by bruises. Bruises in all kinds of shapes and sizes and in all kinds of states of heal. Some are a fading grey, some a sickening yellow, some an aggressive deep purple. But the worst one of all lies on her collar bone. It is giant to the point where I wonder what kind of thing could have caused such an injury. It stretches from the nape of her neck and disappears inside of her blood stained peach shirt. It reminds me of spilt ink, the colours deep in some sections but running thinner in others, turning a lighter shade of grey like it had come into contact with water. It's oddly fascinating. I worry for her safety. I go to help her when she snores deeply, the sound running through my veins and striking fear into my heart. I really shouldn't be here. And with that, I run up the stairs figuring that Dan will know what to do.

The hallway is dark, giving the impression of shadows lurking in every corner. To be honest it makes me uneasy. More than once I jump, fumbling around trying to fight a light switch. It takes a few seconds of uncertainty and slight fear before my fingers finally find it, grappling to switch it on. The hallway bathes in light, revealing grey walls and a questionable looking wooden floor. The crying still continues, apparently oblivious to my arrival. I follow the sound and it leads me to a door. The door hangs on it hinges, looking like it has been slammed shut one too many times. My eyes are immediately drawn to a small chunk in the bottom left corner of the door, which looks as if it has been chewed away by some sort of small animal. I don't even want to know. I push the door open, the hinges protesting with a groan and sure enough there lies Dan. His room is in darkness but the light from the hallway shafts through, illuminating his face. His eyes are closed as his chest is rising and falling, tears escaping his eyes and falling down his cheeks, his throat choking on whimpers as his arm hangs loose over the edge of the bed. I notice the scars although I see no blades or razors close to him so part of me hopes that it wasn't tonight. Between the moonlight from the window and the fake light from the hallway, his room is lit up enough that I can see the endless glass bottles that lie scattered around, some on the floor and some scattered over the top of his naked non-covered duvet. He hasn't noticed me yet. His walls are grey and empty, the plaster peeling and dirt collecting in certain areas. I remember him when he first saw my room, his face lit up as his eyes ran over my posters and things. I didn't understand it then; his fascination in my sleeping area but I do now. My bedroom is the furthest thing from what I stand in now. Where mine projects happiness and colour, his makes you feel inexplicably sad and empty. I try and step forward but the floorboard creaks and his eyes flash open, widened with fear. Upon seeing me he starts crying harder. I can't take it any more, I rush towards him, pushing bottles aside and shuffling onto the bed. I pull him towards me, cradling his head in my lap and running my hands through his hair. He cries harder and harder until I can feel his shaking ribcage against my leg. It scares me.  
"Ssh Sshh I'm here now." I say, rubbing my thumb along his cheek in an attempt to wipe away the tears. In all honesty I am having to hold them back myself.

We sit like that for I don't know how long. There is no measure of time. There is no counting the tears that fall or the amount of times I try and soothe him. But eventually it stops and he sits up, his brown eyes level with mine, the same brown eyes that I had convinced myself that I made up or at least exaggerated slightly. But no, I was right, they really were that heart-stoppingly gorgeous even when rimmed and red with the sting of tears.  
"I've missed you so much." he says before flinging his arms around my shoulders, nuzzling his nose into my neck. I have to stop the question from tumbling from my lips, _so why did you go? _Now is no time for that.

"You're coming with me." I say firmly, surprising even myself.  
"What?" he says removing his head from my neck. My heart physically aches. That's how much I've missed him. And I don't care if love or heartache or tears are clouding my judgement; I need him to come with me and I'm not taking no for answer.  
"I don't know what is going on here but it's not good for you, you're coming home with me."  
"But..."  
"But nothing I want you with me."  
"I can't hurt you any more." that stops me a little. I look into his eyes. _Is that why all this happened? _I push the thought away. Still with my eyes hooked on his, I whisper  
"The only way you could hurt me is if you don't come." His eyes well again  
"I'm sorry." he chokes.  
"Me too." small tears begin to silently spill.  
"But your parents?"  
"Are away for Christmas." He smiles,  
"Are you sure you want to spend your Christmas with me?" he says quietly.  
"It would be an honour."

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**_Wow this is so long and I am tired and have no energy, I hope it was worth it. Thank you for reading this far and please review (I'll give you sweets or something) Also there is a hell of a lot of window jumping in this fic maybe I should just rename it Windows or something (wait then it may sound like a computer browser thing idk I'm tired okay) _**


	10. Little Bird

_**I am going on holiday for a week on Sunday so I won't be able to update for a short while. Sorry about that. Also, no triggers for this chapter just a pure kind of fluff (and a tiny bit of angst at the beginning) because I haven't written a really fluffy chapter in a while. (It took me far too long to name this chapter btw) Thank you to AreYouHaight, witbeyondmeasurexox, wonderfulfun, AccioPhandom, SciFiobsession and Kittykat0989 for reviewing. (seriously so many people :0) (But honestly it means a lot). Here we go (hope you enjoy);**_

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_**Dan's POV**_

I wake up once again in the strange lair that is becoming more and more familiar to me; the way the light shafts through the curtains, the way the colours hit your eyes, the gentle warmth of another human being beside me. It feels like home. Maybe one day it will be.

Except one thing is missing, the gentle oceans that usually waken me with the slight rocking of a wave. Phil's eyes aren't here to greet me, in fact Phil isn't near me at all. In his place is the grating sounds of strangled cries. The bed shakes slightly and I sit up. That's when I see him. His legs are curled up under his chin, his head buried in the comfort of his knees. His hair falls across his face, hiding his emotions from me. The boy at the end of the bed is not the Phil I have come to know- he is a crumpled shadow of the boy with the wide smile and messy hair. A broken piece of the angel that saved me. My heart pulls and I instantly want to leap up and wrap my arms around him, rock him, tell him it's all going to be okay. I feel selfish. With all the problems I have been onloading onto him, I never once stopped to think that he might have problems of his own. I'd never even considered that there might be cracks in the white marble of Phil; that underneath the strong exterior, he too could be drowning, just desperately trying to keep his head above the water. And that's when I realise that no one is a perfect angel, no ones feathers are completely white. Everyone has flaws, the only thing that divides people is whether they choose to wear them on their sleeve or bury them deep beneath the ground. Before now I had always thought of myself as a storage kind of guy- the kind who digs a big hole and buries all his problems in it. But now it occurs to me that maybe my problems are more surface than I thought- maybe there are people like Phil who have dug so deep that sometimes, they forget that they have a hole at all.

I scooch over to the end of the bed, pulling the duvet with me, becoming burningly concious of how little clothes I am actually wearing. I guess I had forgotten pyjamas in all the fuss of last night. He must feel the dip in the mattress because he looks up. His eyes are red, the usual oceans stained with blood. In his eyes I see embarrassment and sadness but something else too, something about his persona relaxes when his face falls upon mine; his shoulders drop a little and his hands stop gripping his knees so tight. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him towards me and letting his face burrow into my bare chest. I can feel the tears sliding off of his cheeks and onto my torso.

I don't quite know what to say. Out of all of the times that I have been comforted, somehow I had never quite played the role of comforter before. I don't want to say "it'll be okay." because chances are it won't be. It rarely is. So instead I opt for the  
"I'm here." approach, hoping that this will in some way soothe him, because honestly the sight of a crumpled and upset Phil breaks my heart piece by piece.

He latches his hands onto my shoulders, pulling himself up so his face is level with mine. His face is still tear-stained, his eyes still twinged with red but his expression is lifted slightly; he looks hopeful. He manages a small smile, flashing me a tiny smirk before attaching his lips to mine, moving himself so he is sitting on my lap with his legs arched around my back and his fingers tangling in my hair.  
"Where did that come from?" I say a slight giggle adding itself to my voice.  
"I'm just really glad you're here." he says, now resting his forehead against mine.  
"I'm really glad I'm here too." I say, lifting my finger and brushing it across his cheek "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask as I lock my eyes on his. He shakes his head,  
"Maybe later." he says, a small smile flickering onto his lips, the conversation mirroring the one we had just a few weeks ago.

_**Phil's POV**_

"Okay!" I say, forcing myself to be overly chipper. "What are we doing today?" Dan's face lights up and I can already feel my sadness drift away, the image of Carter becoming smaller and smaller in my mind's eye.  
"It's snowing!" he announces, his face lighting up like a child on Christmas day.  
"It was yesterday too, doofus." I say, smiling. I never thought this would be me, sat in bed with a beautiful boy as I tease him to the backdrop of snow. I shake a little, trying to get my head round it. That kind of thing only happens in the movies doesn't it? Crazy. But I like it.  
"It did?" he says, pouting a little, "I can't believe I missed it!"  
"Well we can make the most of it today can't we?" I say, leaning over the duvet and tilting his chin up to kiss him on the lips. Seriously what is going on here? I notice a small pink blush spread through Dan's cheeks.

"Okay up now!" I say, swinging my legs off of the bed and standing up, stretching my arms in a faux yawn and letting my pyjama top ride up just slightly. I catch Dan staring.  
"Come on" I say, reaching for his arm but he recoils, grabbing onto the duvet and burying his face under it.  
"Don't make me leave the warmth, don't make me get up!"  
"But it's snowing Dan."  
"But it's warm Phil."  
"Do I have to force you out?"  
"You can try." he says, burrowing further under the duvet until I can't see him at all.  
"Challenge accepted." I say, leaping onto the bed right beside him and pulling the cover over my head. It's dark under the duvet but some of the light filters through. In the dim light I can see the faint outline of Dan and I reach out, my hands reaching his ribs as I tickle him. I feel him squirm beside me, his arms and legs flailing around. I take an opportunity and grab a flailing arm, pulling it until Dan's head emerges from the duvet. I pull him by both arms now, until he drops from the bed, lying on the floor in just his underwear. It is oddly arousing. I lean down, kiss him briefly on the lips. "Time to get up!" I say cheerily, earning a moan from Dan as I walk to the wardrobe.

I find myself outside, my usual navy blue coat done up, sealing the warmth inside my body. It is still snowing and I so desperately want to just tilt my head up to the sky and spin in circles, letting the snowflakes hit my hair and nose and tongue. But I hold back. I must maintain some kind of dignity in front of Dan. And then there he is, his fingers gripping at gloves as he tries to pull them on. He wears a thin brown jumper which I recognise as my own. My grandmother had bought it for me a few years ago as a birthday present. On me it had looked hideous, the colour too boring, the shape not at all flattering, but on him it looked perfect, like he had just finished up at some kind of photo shoot. I internally sigh, he would have to teach me how to do that. Along with the jumper are his usual skinny jeans and snow boots which he must have found piled in the cupboard. But best of all is the hat that covers his hair, it's grey and it's ear flaps frame his face like it's the fricking Mona Lisa. I just want to run and tackle him, letting his head hit the soft powdered snow. Sssh Phil, I tell myself, I thought we were over that stage.

He looks so dainty and shy stood in the doorway, messing with the gloves which for some reason just won't climb onto his hands. Too dainty in fact, the temptation is far too large. I bend down, gathering snow in my own gloves, glancing up through my eyelashes to check that his eyes are still diverted. They are. Unable to wipe the smirk from my face, I tiptoe over, looking, as I am aware, very suspicious. Thankfully Dan doesn't pick up on it and after the long wrestle with his gloves, all he does is smile when he sees me walking over. That's his first mistake. His second is that he doesn't dodge, doesn't dodge when I launch my hand forward, splattering his face with ice cold snow. He screams, shivering and shaking before his screams turn slowly into laughter and then into a grimace.  
"I'm going to get you!" he shouts and I run, my feet slipping and sliding in the snow. I swing round the corner and down the road, thankful that this isn't the kind of road which cars use. I run and run but he is catching up; he's a hell of a lot faster than you might expect. With a quick spin round I can see the powdered snow gripped in his hand and I try and run faster but I fail, my breath already hitching and my legs already tired. I just about make it onto the snow-covered field before he tackles me, slamming my head down into the snow with one hand and pouring it down my back with the other. I squeal like a little girl, grabbing onto his collar and pulling him down into the snow with me. We both laugh until our stomachs hurt and our backs are numb with the cold.  
"Did I win that one?" Dan asks.  
"Did you heck."  
"Well I don't see you retaliating."  
"I pulled you down into the snow!"  
"Yeah but you stayed down, that's a knock out surely."  
"Is not."  
"Is too."  
"Is not." I try to respond but by now I am laughing too hard, so all I do is roll over so that my eyes are just centimetres away from his, the last laugh drifting away.  
"Fine, you win." I say smiling.  
"Of course I do."

We soon grow cold, the snow melting and dribbling down our backs like little waterfalls but we don't dare move, with our hands linked and our heads to the sky everything seems perfect in the world. No rips or tears in the happiness can be seen. But I am scared that as soon as I move, the bubble will pop and I will fall back into reality. I sigh. Why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can't we constantly live within the bubble? How come something always has to come along and pop it?

I feel Dan's hand start to shiver within my own and I turn to look at him, breaking my contact with the sky. His deep brown eyes against the clear white snow make my heart flip; physically flip. I feel an overwhelming urge to pin him against the snow and kiss him. Something's wrong with me, one person isn't supposed to make you feel all that and yet he does. Suddenly I don't care about the sky or the snow or the birds, I only care about him.  
"Are you cold?" He nods, his eyes growing bigger and he looks so fucking cute I think I almost melt into the snow then and there. "Lets get you inside." I say, pulling him by our knotted hands.

We walk down the lane, hands entwined and swinging. Every so often I sneak a sly glance at Dan, admiring the dusting of snow across the back of his hat and the snowflakes that still linger on his lashes.

_**Dan's POV**_

As we approach the house, I can see a car in the drive, it's red metallic paint gleaming in the bright snow.  
"Phil?" He turns his head to me, looking like he had just been snapped out of some sort of deep thought, his pupils growing smaller as he stares. He smiles,  
"Yes?"  
"Whose car is that?" He looks temporarily confused, the smile falling and forming a puzzled expression.  
"Which car?"  
"The one on the drive." I say, raising a finger.  
"What- Oh shit!" he exclaims, letting go of my hand and pushing me as far away from him as he can. I stumble in the snow and almost hit one of the many bushes that line the street, a bemused grin lighting up my face.  
"What's up?" I say, laughing and making my way back to him but his face remains stony.  
"Sssh. It's my brother."  
"So?"  
"So he doesn't know you're here."  
"I'm sure he won't mind all that much."  
"Oh I'm sure he will, he isn't erm very erm _accepting."  
_"And he'll jump to that conclusion? He won't just assume we're friends?"  
"Nope apparently a gay guy can't have male friends." I sigh, exasperated.  
"What should I do?" I ask.  
"Umm." he's stopped now, his face panic stricken as he runs a hand through his soaking wet hair. He looks so tense and I just want to fling my arms around him and whisper in his ear that it'll be fine, even if that isn't strictly true.  
"I can wait out here?" I say, but my body gives me away with an untimely shiver.  
"No it's too cold." he says, looking at the floor, his voice suddenly sad and his hood covering his face, "Come in, I'll tell him that I bumped into you when walking in the snow or something." I laugh,  
"Because that will make it sound less romantic?" He nudges me and laughs,  
"Oh fuck it, shall I just tell him? It'll be a hell of a lot easier."  
"Okay but don't mention the whole living here thing because I'm not sure your parents would agree."  
"Oh god no." he says, his eyes lighting up with both amusement and horror.

He knocks on the door and it opens. Michael stares down at Phil with both worry and disapproval etched onto his face; and that's before he sees me. Then his face drops almost to the floor.  
"Who's this?" he says curtly and Phil seems to stammer. I take his hand for support.  
"This is Dan." Michael's eyes find our knotted hands and his eyebrows arch.  
"And who is Dan?" Phil gulps,  
"My b-boy-boyfriend." Michael's eyes cut into mine and I smile sweetly,  
"Hi."  
"And what's he doing here?"  
"I invited him." Phil says, his voice getting stronger by the minute. Michael's eyes narrow.  
"Do mum and dad know?"  
"Mike, I'm nearly eighteen and they gave me this house for the holidays. I really don't think it's any of their business."  
"I hate it when you call me Mike."  
"I know." And with that he storms past, dragging me behind him, giving me just enough time to give 'Mike' a little salute as I hurry past. He does not look amused. Before long we hear the sound of an engine and the squeak of tyres as he pulls away. Phil finally laughs, the tension diffused.  
"Well that was eventful." he says, collapsing onto his bed  
"Tell me about it."

It's silent for a while, both of us trying to contemplate what just happened. But then a voice perks up from atop of the duvet,  
"Those clothes are all wet, you should probably take them off." Phil says.  
"Trying to get me out of my clothes already are we?" I say, winking. Phil only sighs an affectionate kind of sigh, peeling himself off of the bed and heading towards the chest of drawers. He throws me a pair of pyjamas.  
"Maybe tonight you'll sleep with clothes on." he says pointedly. I blush a little,  
"Maybe."

I start peeling off my clothes, Phil was right, they're soaked right through to the skin. I see him blush, coughing slightly and turning round to put his own pyjamas on. And as much as I don't want to, I turn around, out of respect for Phil's innocence.

I have only just pulled the top over my head when I feel a breath at my ear and arms around my chest.  
"Hey."  
"Hey." I say, turning round and catching his lips.  
"It's time for cuddles." he says and his cuteness almost over powers me. He takes my hand and leads me to the living room, slotting a dvd into the player and sitting down onto the sofa. He pats the spot next to him and I join him, nuzzling my head into his chest as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. The room of shadows already seems so far away.

* * *

_**Okay btw I found this really hard to write for some reason it might be because it's so hot and idk I haven't written fluff in a while. (So that's why it's quite short and crap and there are no advancements) Thanks for reading and please review :) (I'll give you lemonade or something because jesus it's hot)**_


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